


Mitigating Circumstances

by Katef



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sentinels & Guides, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 09:52:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11102085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katef/pseuds/Katef
Summary: When Detective Jim Ellison's re-emerging senses land him in trouble with Internal Affairs, help arrives in the form of a newly-appointed young Professor of Anthropology, Dr Blair Sandburg.However, Dr Sandburg soon learns to his cost that no good deed goes unpunished.





	Mitigating Circumstances

**Part 1: A Stretch of the Imagination:**   


**Captain Banks’ office, Cascade PD MCU:**  


“I told you that you wouldn’t believe me, Captain. Hell, it’s hard enough for me to believe it myself. But that’s how it went down, sir. I swear it.” 

Frowning in consternation, Simon Banks studied his subordinate carefully. If he was looking for any signs of shiftiness or mendacity, he couldn’t find any, not that it came as any surprise. Detective Jim Ellison was about the most upright and honourable man he had ever met, even if he was a short-tempered and cranky asshole on occasion, so Simon forced himself to bite back the scoffing contradiction he was tempted to utter. And right now the man looked strung out and haggard rather than guilty, his chiselled features drawn with lines of stress and pain, and his impressive body for once slumped gracelessly in his seat as he scrubbed at his face with his hands as if to try and wipe away his weariness. 

Curbing his impatience with some difficulty, Simon sighed heavily and moved around to sit at his desk, waiting until Jim met his questioning gaze again. “OK, Jim. I can’t say I’m convinced of any of this, but I’ve never known you to lie, so let’s go through the whole scene again. Satisfy me that you’re not going insane - or burning out - if you can. Because from where I’m sitting at the moment, I’m looking at a man ready to break, and that’s just what IA want you to do. They want your badge, man, and Murcheson’s parents want you locked up and the key thrown away!” 

Tired ice blue eyes held worried brown ones as Jim nodded slowly, his expression resigned but open and unguarded as he tried once again to convince his boss that he had had good reason to gun down the spoilt and amoral murdering scion of one of Cascade’s wealthiest businessmen. 

**Three days previously:**  


Seated next to his current temporary partner in the conspicuously luxurious surroundings of the CEO’s office, MurchPharm Inc., Jim’s cool and stoic demeanour gave no indication of his inner torment as his wayward senses fought an all-out war against his attempts to control them. Knowing that it would take very little to drive him to the point of retaliating in snarling frustration, he allowed his partner to lead the conversation with said CEO, confining himself to studying the other man as objectively as he could. 

Norman Q Murcheson was a hard-faced, imposing and arrogant man in his late middle age. As the founder and CEO of MurchPharm Inc., he was proud to the point of conceit of his wealth and success, and wasn’t averse to emphasising the fact to his visitors, who he saw as merely two lowly representatives of Cascade’s PD, there to do his bidding as the public servants that they were. However, if he did but realise it, his superior attitude had little or no effect on either man, and for good reason. Jim’s own father, William Ellison, although long estranged from his son, was CEO of Ellison Enterprises, Inc. A successful company in its own right, it ensured that, at least during his youth, Jim had been no stranger to material wealth and privilege. He was therefore totally unimpressed by Murcheson’s pompous posturing, and was quietly pleased to note that his partner was equally unmoved. 

Joel Taggart was a somewhat portly African American, whose genial and easy-going nature belied his capability as a shrewd and competent detective in his own right. Formerly Captain of the Bomb Squad, after a crisis of confidence he had transferred to Major Crimes with notable success. He was also one of the few MCU detectives who actually got along with Jim, and so tended to be partnered with him when necessary. And he was far too level-headed and honest to be intimidated by one such as Murcheson, keeping his own questions polite and succinct, and benignly ignoring Murcheson’s hostility and barely-disguised bigotry. 

Leaning forward in his seat, hands clasped in front of him and face set in a thin-lipped frown, the businessman tried to stare down his calm questioner, with little effect. “Now look here, Detective. This is getting us nowhere! How many more times do I have to reiterate my considered opinions? I have _no_ idea where the leak could be, only that it must be down to one of the technical staff! Why aren’t you and your partner down at the labs questioning them? All the time you’re delaying, I’m losing money and credibility! My reputation’s on the line here, and I’m sure my friend the Mayor won’t be at all satisfied with your lack of progress so far!” 

Joel merely smiled serenely as he answered mildly, “That would be _Captain_ Taggart, sir, if you don’t mind. Not ‘Detective’. And I can assure you that Detective Ellison and I will be questioning your staff as appropriate. But there is still a chance that the industrial espionage your company is being subject to could be from another source altogether. An external source. We’re merely covering all bases, Mr Murcheson, because we are as concerned as you must be about the possibility that this new chemical combination could become the latest designer drug on the street as much as a potential medical breakthrough. And of course we are also well aware of your concerns that one of your competitors might get hold of the formula and beat you to it in its production. But someone knew how to access your protected research files. Someone who has either the necessary technical expertise to allow them to hack into your system, or else the means of obtaining the confidential passwords. I’m simply asking if you have any ideas about any person or persons who might have such capability.” 

Suddenly, Jim’s hearing was assaulted by a rapid drumming, so loud that he was hard pressed not to clap his hands over his ears. Maintaining his superficial studied calm only with a gargantuan effort, he finally wrestled the sound down to a bearable level, but with it came a flash of enlightenment. Crazy as it sounded, he was sure it was Murcheson’s galloping heartbeat he could hear, and that, coupled with the slight sheen of perspiration he could see breaking out on the man’s forehead, suggested that Murcheson was anxious about something. Despite his carefully controlled, if irritated, demeanour, perhaps he _did_ know more than he was letting on, or maybe he had just had his own flash of inspiration, and didn’t like its implications. Either way, this was hardly the time for Jim to call him on it without drawing unwanted attention to himself, so he decided to confide in Joel once they had left the office. And he prayed that his friend and colleague would be open-minded enough to give his theory a little credence rather than calling up the men in white coats to take Jim away. 

However, on their way down to the laboratory complex to continue their investigation, Jim changed his mind again as regards ‘fessing up to his weird sensory spikes and what he thought they were telling him. Yes, he liked and trusted Joel, and was reasonably certain that the man wouldn’t divulge information given in confidence, but he still wasn’t ready to face up to the scepticism, if not outright disbelief, that his confession was likely to elicit. So he decided instead to use another tack to explain his suspicions. 

“Well, Joel, what did you think of good ol’ Norman? Any observations other than that he’s an A-one conceited asshole?” he asked, with a sardonic chuckle. 

Turning to look at his colleague, his easy smile offset by a touch of speculation in his warm brown eyes, Joel replied thoughtfully, “Well, I have to agree with you on that point, Jim. But he did seem to be on the level when it came down to defending himself against a threat to his money and reputation. Why? Did you have another idea?” 

“Yeah. Yes, I did, but call it a gut feeling – nothing really tangible,” Jim obfuscated with a pang of guilt. “I thought that he was hiding something when you asked him if he had any ideas about other likely suspects. Perhaps he was having second thoughts about blaming one of his technical staff?” 

“You mean, you read his body language, huh?” Joel mused, apparently satisfied with his own interpretation of Jim’s words. “Well, you could have a point, Jim. You do seem to have developed an uncanny knack lately of being able to discern things the rest of us can’t. Perhaps you’re a latent psychic, hey?” he added with a chuckle, and Jim joined in, glad to share the ‘joke’ as long as it let him off the hook as far as disclosing his real affliction was concerned. 

“Maybe I am at that, Joel,” he laughed ruefully. “But let’s see if we can turn up anything here,” he continued, nodding at the secure entrance they had just reached. “I’ll see if anything strikes me while you’re questioning the staff,” and he reached for the intercom button to announce their arrival.  


\---------------------------------  


Some hours later saw them driving back to the PD, having scored an unexpected hit during their investigation of the laboratory personnel. However, Joel couldn’t help but glance anxiously over at his passenger, who was leaning heavily against the side window, apparently nursing the headache from Hell. 

“You look like shit, Jim,” he murmured worriedly. “Is there anything I can do?” 

Cracking open one eye, Jim shook his head slightly, only to wince at the additional pain the small movement caused. “Nah, Joel. It’s just a sort of migraine,” he muttered, not altogether untruthfully. “I’ve been getting them quite a lot lately. It’ll pass.” 

“If you say so, Jim. But I can’t help but worry, man. You haven’t been right for some time now, to my mind. Have you seen any doctors? I mean, we’re not talking brain tumours here are we?” 

And Jim couldn’t help but grin wryly, seeing as he had been worried for the same reason. “Oh, I’ve seen doctors all right,” he sighed. “And they can’t find anything wrong with me, so either I’m going crazy or I’m trying to get myself a medical discharge. Sucks, huh?” 

“Yeah, Jim. It does. Look, if you like, once we’ve reported back to Simon, I’ll drop you off at the loft so you can get some rest. I don’t think you should be driving, so you can leave your truck in the parking garage. I’ll pick you up first thing in the morning, OK?” 

“Whatever you say, Joel,” Jim murmured tiredly, and closed his eyes again, unaware of both the speculative look on his friend’s face, and the fact that the kind-hearted man was forming his own theory about what ailed his gruff colleague.  


\-------------------------------  


As Joel drove carefully back to the PD, Jim tried to relax as much as possible, concentrating on his breathing and attempting to ride out the pain and nausea he was presently feeling. Wearily, he pondered yet again on the strange symptoms with which he had been afflicted ever since undertaking a protracted, solo stakeout during a case several weeks previously, trying unsuccessfully to come up with a reason, or better still, a remedy. He had suddenly started to be affected by random sensory spikes, with each sense either super-acute, or cutting out altogether, causing him extreme pain and disorientation. Sometimes he thought he could literally hear a pin drop from within the next building, or see the individual feathers on a bird far overhead. At other times, taste and smell could almost knock him out, while his clothes often felt like sackcloth and ashes against his overly sensitive skin. But what was even more worrying was that sometimes he found himself losing time. It hadn’t happened on the job yet, but he was desperately frightened that it could happen during a fire fight. He wasn’t concerned for himself, because at the moment a bullet didn’t seem like such a bad permanent cure, but he knew he would never forgive himself if a colleague, or an innocent passer-by, should get hurt or killed while he was away in la-la land. Only this morning he had been so caught up in the intricate patterns of individual drops of condensation on his bathroom mirror that he had blanked out, only waking with a start many minutes later when he heard a loud car horn in the street below. It couldn’t go on, but how could he explain to Simon and his colleagues without sounding totally nuts? He was well aware that they were already looking askance at him on occasion due to his increasingly erratic temper and ever-worsening anti-social attitude. He figured that it was only his continuing successful arrest and conviction rate that prevented Simon from giving him his marching orders. 

Or then again, maybe he _was_ actually going crazy, and it was only a matter of time before someone thought to shut him away in a rubber room somewhere, out of sight and out of mind. But if it ever reached that stage, he decided that he’d eat his gun first. 

Fighting off that depressing thought, he concentrated instead on the lucky break they had been granted, hoping that Simon would give them the go-ahead to follow it up fully.  


\------------------------------------  


On entering the opulent, high-tech lab complex earlier that afternoon, Jim had immediately been stricken by the chemical smells that assaulted his suddenly over-sensitive nose to the extent that he thought he might actually throw up on the spot. As Joel had deliberately distracted the unwanted attention of the snooty and self-important Technical Director and his chief laboratory supervisor, Jim had fought to override his unruly sense of smell by digging his fingernails into his palms so aggressively that he actually cut himself. The additional small pain plus the application of his formidable willpower had been enough to gain a moderate degree of control over and cooperation between his other senses so that he was able to accompany Joel even if he was in no condition to help with the actual interviews. 

Explaining away his extreme reaction to the openly inquisitive Technical Director as due to unspecified allergies, he and Joel followed the disdainful and disapproving man away from the laboratory area to the less stressful environment of the administration wing, where they were shown into an empty office which they could use as an interview room. And once there, Jim was greatly relieved to find that he was able to at least relax enough to take some small part in the interviews after all. 

Concentrating initially on those staff members who had access to and expertise in IT and data input and retrieval, they were surprised when a relatively low-grade laboratory assistant nervously poked his head around the door of the office, asking if he could have a private word with them. 

The young African American introduced himself as Jonas Rhyo, and he claimed that he had some information for them, even though it was obvious he was scared. But despite that, he impressed them with his determination to do the right thing, and Jim recalled the conversation that followed in perfect detail. 

“Look, man, I know this is going to sound weird, but I swear it’s true. Just hear me out, OK? But this has to be in confidence, guys. I need this job, and if anyone gets as much as a sniff at what I’m about to tell you, I’ll be history. And that could be literal, man, I’m not joking!” 

Once Joel had employed his most confidence-inspiring smile and words of encouragement, Jonas continued, slowly at first, and then gathering momentum as the tale progressed. And it began with a bombshell. 

“The guy you’re looking for is Murcheson’s son, Kenny. Murcheson either can’t see it, or won’t admit it, but Kenny’s a real piece of shit, man. He’s a spoilt, rich kid who’s never wanted for anything, but still he wants more. And he doesn’t want to have to work for it either. 

“You’re probably thinking, _‘how does he know this stuff’?_ but I swear it’s true. See, Kenny goes to Rainier U; studying some unspecified degree or other until Daddy dearest considers him old enough and responsible enough to start working for the company. Murcheson undoubtedly tells him a certain amount about what’s new in the research field, but it’s unlikely that he’d trust Kenny with confidential details until he’s certain that the kid’s worthy of it. And that won’t satisfy Kenny. 

“See, he hangs with another equally spoilt rich kid – Morgan Westbrook.” 

“As in the Westbrook banking family? The founders of the Cascade Mutual?” Jim asked quietly, already not liking what he was hearing. 

“Yeah. That’s right,” Jonas confirmed. “One of the wealthiest and most powerful families in Cascade. And doesn’t Morgan know it!” he added with a sneer of disgust. 

“Westbrook’s a real head-case, Detective. No principles at all. Whatever he’s gotten up to until now has been bought off by his parents’ money and influence, so he’s never learned the meaning of ‘restitution.’ And between him and his sidekick Kenny, they’ve cooked up a plan to steal from Kenny’s own father so that they can get their hands on enough money to be independently rich. But in order to get hold of the information they need, they had to find themselves a geek capable of hacking into MurchPharm’s systems. And that’s where my cousin comes in, which is why I know what I know,” and he tailed off sadly, plainly trying to control his pain and anger. 

“Take your time, son,” Joel encouraged quietly. “I can promise you that we’re taking you very seriously, Jonas,” and Jim nodded his agreement. 

“OK. So. This is what I’ve learned from my cousin. His name’s Tommi Maxim, by the way. T.O.M.M.I, that is. Shit stupid name, but he’s resigned to it by now. See, his Dad was some sort of crazy militant-survivalist type. Was proud of his surname, and thought it was funny to choose an appropriate given name for his only kid.” 

At Joel’s quizzical look, even though Jim had already made the connection, Jonas explained. 

“You must have heard of the Maxim machine gun, right? So Tommi’s Dad thinks, ‘Oh, yeah. What’s another name for a machine gun? Tommy gun, right?’ So poor cousin Tommi gets stuck with a crap name. Probably why he turned out to be a nerdy geek instead of a bone-headed redneck. 

“Then again, as a person of mixed race, he wouldn’t have been accepted in those circles anyway. Just as well his Dad was killed in a hunting accident years ago. Tommi and his Mom are better off without him,” and Jonas’ pleasant features twisted briefly in a hard and cynical grimace. 

“Anyway, upshot is that Tommi’s also studying at Rainier, and he’s a true genius with computers, man. If anyone can hack into these systems, it’ll be him. But he has to struggle to make ends meet, because he has to rely on his Mom’s support. She’s a good woman, is my Aunt Shawna, and found herself a good job, but it’s at the Cascade Mutual Bank. And if Tommi doesn’t do what Kenny and Morgan tell him, Morgan says he’ll get Kenny’s Mom fired at the very least; maybe even put a hit out on her. And he’d do it, man, without a second thought, because I doubt he’s got the balls to pull the trigger himself. So Tommi doesn’t have a choice, man. You do see that, don’t you? He has to protect Aunt Shawna.” 

And Jim and Joel certainly did see, so after assuring Jonas that they would both protect his confidentiality and his cousin’s welfare to the best of their ability, they left the complex, intending to follow up on their lead the next day – once Jim had hopefully shaken off the headache that had refused to be held at bay any longer.  


\------------------------------------  


**Two days previously:**  


**Rainier University Campus:**  


Pulling into a spot in the parking lot nearest to the IT Department Building, Jim turned off the truck’s ignition and turned to meet his companion’s concerned gaze. 

“Are you sure you’re up to this, Jim?” Joel asked quietly, not wanting to irritate his friend, but still worried about the younger man’s pallor. 

Sighing gustily, Jim bit back his initial desire to snap at his friend and tell him to mind his own business. Instead, he offered him a small, self-deprecating half-grin as he replied, “Yeah, I’m OK, Joel, thanks for asking. I might not be up to full speed yet, but I had a better night after you dropped me off. The headache’s down to a dull roar, and I need to see this case through. We can’t risk that formula either hitting the streets in an illegal format, or letting those two rich kids get away with selling it to the highest bidding competitor. Their selfish, punk-ass attitude makes me sick, because I’m sorry to say that I’ve met the type before, both at college and in the army. And they all turned out to be worthless pieces of shit beyond redemption,” he ended, with a cynical sneer of disdain. 

“Sadly, I agree with you there, Jim. So, let’s see if we can track down young Tommi Maxim, and see what he has to tell us, shall we?” 

It had only taken them a few minutes to trace their target, as even at that early hour, Tommi was where Jonas had said he would be – beavering away in one of the computer rooms, plainly engrossed in whatever magic he was creating on the screen in front of him, and making the most of his solitude. It was several seconds before he realised that he had company, and he was obviously startled by the cops’ presence, eyes widening in shock before darting around as if seeking an escape route. 

In an effort to offer reassurance and calm the young man’s fears, Joel grinned cheerfully at him, and addressed him in a gentle voice. “Tommi Maxim? Could we have a few moments of your time, please? I think you might be able to help us in our enquiries regarding your involuntary involvement in a possible case of industrial espionage. 

“And if you help us, son, we promise to do our best to help you.” 

For a moment, Tommi appeared stricken, his throat working before he managed to reply in a voice that cracked in his distress. “How…how do you know? Was it Jonas? Did he tell you about me?” 

Joel nodded sympathetically, and moved forward to rest a warm hand on the student’s narrow shoulder. “Yes, son, he did. Because he wants to help you. You and your Mom. So if you’ll tell us what you know, I can promise you that we’ll do our very best to protect you both.” 

While Joel was speaking, Jim took the opportunity to study the young man, coming to the conclusion that this was most likely a good kid caught up in circumstances out of his control. Short and very slender, he was the epitome of a science nerd, his features and skin colouring evidence of his mixed parentage. However, the combination was attractive, and there was no trace of malice or deceit in his open expression. The wide, green eyes were probably inherited from his deceased father, while the curly, close-cropped black hair and café-au-lait skin tone undoubtedly came from his mother. 

There was another protracted pause during which Tommi appeared to weigh his options, and then the thin shoulders slumped in defeat. 

“O…OK. I’ll do it. If you can promise me that Mom’ll be all right? I mean, that’s why I did it. To keep Westbrook away from her. And she doesn’t know anything about it, man, I swear!” 

“OK, son. So, do you want to come to the station with us, or would you prefer to find somewhere private hereabouts to talk to us in the first instance? We can record your statement either way, so whatever works for you.” 

In the end, Tommi led them to a small room off one of the building’s main corridors. It was dusty, and plainly little used and even Jim could tell that the computer equipment inside was old and out of date. 

“We should be OK in here, Detectives,” Tommi murmured before closing the door behind them. 

“This is one of the individual study areas which has yet to be refurbished in the department’s latest remodelling project. I come in here when I need to get away for a bit,” he muttered shyly, his sadness suggesting that perhaps the company of some of his fellow students wasn’t always welcome. 

Seating himself on one of the dusty, hard plastic chairs, Jim smiled amicably up at him and addressed him for the first time, hoping to put him at ease. “So, your full name’s Tommi Maxim, right? Jonas mentioned that it was your Dad’s idea?” 

He was pleased when a slow, rueful grin lit up Tommi’s neat features for a moment. “He told you about that, huh? Well, I guess he’ll have also told you that I’m used to it by now. I mean, yeah, it has pretty weird connotations, especially for someone like me,” and he indicated his diminutive stature and geeky attire with a dismissive hand. “But then again, when the jocks are laughing their heads off at my stupid name and calling me ‘Gunner Maxim’, they’re not beating the shit out of me. Better to be the butt of their jokes than their punching bag, hey?” 

Nodding sympathetically, Jim’s expression sobered again, knowing that it was only too familiar a scenario. Hell, he’d witnessed similar behaviour many times during High School and college, and even if he didn’t partake in such cruelty, he hadn’t done much to prevent it either, and he wasn’t proud of the fact. 

Luckily, Tommi seemed disinclined to dwell on that topic, seating himself and gazing expectantly, if nervously, at Jim and Joel as he prepared to answer their questions. 

And what he had to tell them was both disturbing and enlightening. In fact, if Tommi’s information was accurate, it was possible that the case could be solved that very night if Simon gave them his blessing to act upon it.  


\------------------------------------  


**That night:**  


In the gathering dusk, Joel drove towards an area of the Cascade suburbs where respectable, blue-collar housing developments were springing up in increasing numbers as property developers made the most of a growing market. Their destination was one such new build, as yet unfinished, which was being constructed by a subsidiary company of the Westbrook banking empire. According to Tommi, this was where Morgan Westbrook and Kenny Murcheson had arranged to meet with a contact in order to sell the information they had forced Tommi to download from MurchPharm’s research database. Tommi hadn’t known the identity of the contact, or the nature of the deal, so couldn’t say whether it was a representative for a rival pharmaceutical company, or some more nefarious character, but it was enough to convince Simon that Jim and Joel should follow up the lead. However, even at risk of preaching to the choir, he did stress that, if the meet looked as if it was going down, he expected his men to call for backup before going in, and to be very sure of their facts. Socially elite clans like the Westbrooks and Murchesons weren’t to be confronted without very good reason, as Banks well knew. 

Since the idea was to be as unobtrusive as possible, the two men had decided to use Joel’s unmarked sedan rather than Jim’s truck, and once they had identified the now deserted Westbrook site, Joel eased to a halt in a sheltered spot behind some parked up heavy construction vehicles. The whole site was surrounded by chain link fencing, on which several signs warned of regular security patrols although at present there was no sign of any such personnel. 

“Wonder if the kids have bought off the security guards too?” Jim muttered dryly as he scanned the area. “Can’t see anyone around, so let’s see if we can get closer.” 

At Joel’s nod of assent, he climbed out of the car, and once Joel had joined him, he moved stealthily towards the site entrance, keeping in the deepening shadows cast by occasional security lights dotted around the perimeter. However, as the pair quietly approached the guard hut and barrier, ready to identify themselves if necessary, Jim was suddenly struck by a blast of an all-too-familiar combination of unpleasant odours as his once again super-sensitive nose warned him that something within the hut was very wrong. 

Gasping as he fought to control the spike, he felt Joel’s hand grip his arm as the older man whispered urgently, “What is it, Jim? Are you OK?” 

The touch seemed to help, so that Jim was able to reply coherently, even though his stomach was threatening to rebel. “I think there’s someone dead in the hut, Joel. Don’t ask me how, but I can smell fresh blood and faeces. I’ll bet it’s the security guard,” he added, with barely controlled anger. 

“How can you tell that, Jim? I can’t smell anything from here,” Joel replied, his face reflecting his consternation. “Then again, I’ve learned to trust your instincts, so let’s go and see.” 

Quickly but carefully covering the remaining distance to the hut, Jim eased open the door, his expression grim as his suspicions were confirmed. The body of the portly, middle-aged guard was sprawled face down at the back of the hut, a large pool of blood spreading out beneath his head from a vicious-looking scalp wound. Stepping up to the body, Jim automatically felt for a pulse in the fleshy neck even though he already knew that the man was dead. “Blunt force trauma,” he muttered angrily, if unnecessarily. “If this is down to those little shits, I want to see them pay!” 

An equally grim-faced Joel nodded in agreement, his expression tinged with sorrow and pity for the hapless guard. 

“You want to call for backup yet, or should we check out the area a bit more first?” he murmured, unsurprised when Jim pulled his service weapon, his eyes cold. 

“Not yet, Joel. I don’t want to jeopardise the meet if it’s going down. Let’s see if we can catch them in the act.” 

So saying, he entered the site, checking out the partially constructed buildings one by one, and looking for signs of activity within. And suddenly his on-again, off-again senses seemed to cooperate for once, and his sight zeroed in on a parked Porsche Carrera tucked away in the deep shadows behind one of the bigger houses further on down in the development. And almost simultaneously, he heard two heartbeats from within the unfinished building, both racing erratically as a low but panicked conversation carried over to him. Holding out his hand to check Joel’s advance, he cocked his head in an unconscious listening pose, and concentrated on the on-going argument. 

1st voice: “Why the hell did you have to hit him so hard, Kenny? I said just knock him out, not smash his head in! I think we’d better just leave. We can rearrange a meet for another day. We can’t afford to be seen anywhere around here. Let’s just go!” 

2nd voice: “No way, Morgan! I didn’t figure you for a wimp! Look, Delaney’s money man and the chemist will be here soon. What we can’t afford is to let him down. You don’t pull out of a deal with a gang boss like that and expect to get away with it. We can’t risk leaving behind any witnesses, and no one’s going to care about some nobody of a rent-a-cop. Your Dad’ll take care of paying off the family, if there is one. There’s no one else around at this time of night to see anything. That’s why we chose this place!” 

Pulling back his hearing with no little difficulty, Jim turned to bring Joel up to speed on what he had overheard. To his credit, the older man nodded in acceptance, even though it was plain that he hadn’t heard or seen anything. 

“So, what do you want to do, Jim? Call for backup now, or wait and see if their contacts turn up?” 

Jim was about to reply, when suddenly the door of the half-finished house burst open, and a flying figure sprinted towards them, plainly unaware of their presence as he swerved around the side of the building towards where the car was parked. He was closely followed by another figure, and this one held a large, semi-automatic pistol, waving it threateningly as he chased his companion through the night-time darkness. 

“Come back, Morgan! You cowardly shit! You’re not leaving here without me, you hear me?” 

Suddenly the second figure skidded to a halt, having spotted the two cops in his path. He didn’t even pause as he raised the pistol, aiming directly for Joel, and Jim knew from the almost manic fury in the boy’s eyes that he was going to fire. Jim’s response was automatic, and he dropped the kid in his tracks with a clean shot through the heart even as Kenny pulled the trigger, that shot mercifully deflected to fly safely inches above Joel’s head. Barely breaking his stride in his hurry to escape the violent exchange, Morgan Westbrook sprinted the last few yards to his car, and peeled away from the scene with a screech of burning rubber. 

After checking Kenny’s body, and finding no pulse, Jim clasped a somewhat shaken Joel by the shoulder. 

“I think you’d better call for that backup now, Joel,” he muttered grimly. The shit was most definitely about to hit the fan.  


\------------------------------  


**Previous day:**  


In the early hours of the morning, Jim hauled himself into his truck in the PD’s underground parking garage, finally having been given permission to head back to the loft. In truth, he felt awful, the now familiar headache further exacerbated by exhaustion and mental stress such that he knew he really wasn’t safe to drive. But there was no way he was going back into the building to face more accusatory looks and scathing remarks, so he rested his head against the seat and closed his sore and gritty eyes for a few minutes, intending to relax a little before heading for home. 

However, even as he tried to calm his frazzled nerves and control his deep-seated anger and frustration, his mind refused to cooperate and continued to mull over the last few hours and the many and varied problems thrown up in the aftermath of last night’s shooting. 

Jim was in big trouble, and he knew it. 

Once backup had arrived at the scene, along with ambulances and the forensics team, a search of Kenny Murcheson’s body had revealed a computer disc which proved to contain the research material downloaded by Tommi Maxim. On Jim and Joel’s evidence, units were despatched to the Westbrook Mansion to arrest Morgan Westbrook Junior, and a cursory check on the kid’s Porsche Carrera had revealed a bloodied tyre iron, although Westbrook swore that it had been Kenny who had used it on the unlucky guard. However, since they had both had the common sense to wear gloves, fingerprints weren’t going to prove his assertion either way. Kenny’s semi-auto pistol was almost certainly an untraceable illegal purchase since it was quickly established that Murcheson owned no firearms at all, and Morgan Westbrook Senior only had the shotguns he used for shooting sporting clays at the Country Club, and the pair of uber-expensive Purdeys he used for grouse shooting in Scotland. Unless ballistics could actually match a bullet from Kenny’s pistol to an unsolved shooting, it was probable that its post-manufacture history would never be known, since private sales weren’t generally recorded. And of course Morgan Jnr denied all knowledge of it, claiming that the whole plan was Kenny’s idea, as was the purchase of the handgun. 

The trouble for Jim started almost immediately, unfortunately, but he had expected as much. With the distraught Norman Murcheson howling for his badge at the very least, in complete denial that his son was anything more than Morgan Westbrook’s innocent dupe, Jim knew that it was going to be hard to prove that he had acted correctly and that the shooting was righteous. Having handed over his firearm to IA, which was SOP after a fatal shooting incident, he and Joel returned to the PD to give their statements, and that was when the fun began. 

In all honesty, Jim had to admit that he had failed to call out a warning before opening fire. Having heard the kids’ argument, and desperately concerned about young Murcheson’s state of mind, there was no way he was going to allow the little punk to shoot Joel. Not on his watch. As the action had gone down, the few extra seconds it would have taken to call out the requisite warning would probably have cost Joel his life. The problem was proving it, and also the truth behind his explanation as regards what he claimed to have learned in the time preceding the shooting. The fact remained that the IA investigators simply didn’t believe him. In their opinion, the distances involved were simply too great for him to have heard and seen what he claimed, such that anything he said was considered to be inadmissible as evidence regarding either Kenny Murcheson’s state of mind, or his own innocence. And although Joel insisted that he believed Jim’s assertions and in his colleague’s cop instincts implicitly, he couldn’t honestly swear under oath that he had heard or seen anything himself, and no way would Jim let his friend lie for him. 

Eventually, Simon had told him to go home, suspended from duty pending further enquiries, and that was all he could do. 

Heaving a great sigh, he raised his aching head and turned on the ignition, his resignation and despondency weighing heavily on his shoulders as he drove slowly back to the loft, intending to do nothing more than sink a few beers and go to bed. 

Little did he know that at least one person was prepared to stand by him, and that person, in the shape of Joel Taggart, was already working on finding a way to clear Jim’s name and reputation.  


\-------------------------------------  


**Present:**  


Back in Simon’s office, Jim wound down his explanation, but knew immediately that once again he had failed to convince his boss of his version of the incident. Oh sure, he knew that Simon _wanted_ to believe him. That much was obvious in the big man’s pained expression and troubled eyes, but the fact remained that he was still sceptical, and why wouldn’t he be? Even to Jim’s own ears he sounded crazy, so perhaps he was. Perhaps it was all some sort of weird schizophrenic episode that had its roots in his troubled past. Hell, he had experienced enough bizarre and downright dangerous situations in his covert ops days, so perhaps he was just burnt out after all. It was a sobering and depressing thought, but he still wondered if there was something hidden deep down in his memory that could explain it. Something so thoroughly repressed that he could no longer access it without the right kind of help. 

His weary train of thought was broken when Simon straightened up in his seat with a gusty sigh and met his quizzical gaze with a direct, if sympathetic look. 

“I’m sorry, Jim. Look, you know I want to believe you, but it’s just too incredible. I mean, I believe you’re an honest man, and I realise you’ve been having problems recently, but I think you’re deluding yourself in this case. I don’t doubt that _you_ believe what you say you heard and saw, but truly, Jim, do you really expect anyone else to accept it? Look at it from my point of view, man. What would you do in my place?” and the entreaty and apology in his voice and expression were plain to see. 

When Jim nodded tiredly, unwilling to pursue the argument any further for the time being, Simon continued, hoping to at least provide his subordinate with a little good news. 

“There are some new developments that I can bring you up to speed on, if you want to hear them,” he began, trying to inject a little more of an upbeat tone into his voice, and when a spark of interest lit the ice blue eyes regarding him so solemnly, he continued. 

“After a good bit of negotiation between Morgan Westbrook’s high-powered attorney and the investigating officers, I can tell you that a plea bargain has been submitted and accepted so that the kid won’t be going to trial. But before you erupt, I can promise you that he will be punished, if not as much as we might believe he deserves. See, the thing is that, although he’s desperately angry and humiliated, Westbrook senior does recognise that his no-good son finally deserves to face up to the consequences of his bad behaviour. All his life he’s been spoilt and excused from responsibility, but this time his father accepts that he’s gone too far. So, the kid’s made a full confession, insofar as he has admitted to helping steal the data from MurchPharm with the intention of selling it, but he denies any involvement in the guard’s murder, or in setting up the deal. He claims it was all down to Kenny in the first instance – something that we’ll never be able to prove for certain, of course – but ironically enough, if your version of events was to be believed, your report of the content of their argument would probably support his claim at least insofar as the murder is concerned. 

“Anyhow, upshot is that he’ll serve a few months’ jail time in a private secure facility, and then do community service for as long as the judge considers reasonable. And Westbrook has confirmed that he’ll pay compensation to the guard’s widow, and also says that Shawna Maxim’s job is safe.” 

Offering his boss a wry grin, Jim nodded thoughtfully before replying. 

“I guess that’s not so bad then, sir. I mean, yes, I think the brat deserves way more of a punishment than that. But then again, a lot of his attitude and arrogance is down to the way he’s been raised. We’ve all seen spoilt rich kids get away with stuff that would have a street kid locked away for years, but that’s the way of the world, unfortunately. Money and social standing has a lot to answer for. But at least his father finally realises where the responsibility lies, and it isn’t all with the kid.” 

Simon nodded soberly in agreement, but his expression hardened again as he braced himself for his next words. 

“Unfortunately, that’s the only good news I’ve got for you at the moment, Jim. As far as Norman Murcheson is concerned, he wants you in court for unjustified killing. He’s in total denial that his kid was in any way deserving of being shot out of hand. As far as he’s concerned, Morgan Westbrook’s confession and version of events is a tissue of lies, concocted to save his own neck. He claims that you acted with malicious intent knowing that you had failed in your investigation into his company’s industrial espionage case, and that you were looking for a convenient scapegoat, which should have been Morgan Westbrook, not his son. According to him, Kenny was just a gullible boy, misled by the behaviour of his peers. 

“I’m sorry, Jim. But IA seems to agree with him, at least inasmuch as you didn’t offer any warning before taking a kill shot. Hell, man, you’re the department’s best marksman. If you were going to shoot, why didn’t you try to just disable him?” 

And Jim couldn’t help but smile grimly as he replied honestly. “Because I didn’t want to, sir. That kid was murderous. He’d already killed once, and he would have done it again without a second thought. I saw it in his eyes, and no way was I going to let him take Joel down. I acted on instinct.” 

Any response Simon might have intended to make was halted by the man in question knocking on the door before peering around it to request permission to enter. 

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Simon, Jim. But there’s something I’d like to discuss with you both if you don’t mind. You see, I’ve been thinking about the things that have been happening with Jim recently, and these strange sensory spikes of his rang a bell with me. And I think I may be able to help explain them. Or at least, I know someone who can. Because if they’re real, and not delusions, perhaps we can prove Jim’s innocence after all. Can I tell you what I believe?” 

And what else could Simon do but invite him in. “Take a seat, Joel. If there’s anything you can do to clear up this mess I’m all ears. We both are!” 

As Joel sat down, looking from Jim to Simon and back, the eagerness in his warm expression touched Jim deeply as he realised just how much Joel’s belief in him, and his willingness to help meant to him. 

Leaning forward in his seat, Joel wasted no more time as he started in excitedly with his explanation, plainly convinced of its very real possibilities, and determined to win his listeners around to his own view. 

“As I said, I’ve been watching Jim’s reactions recently, as I was both worried for his mental and physical welfare, and also fascinated by some of the things he’s managed to achieve over the past few weeks, pretty much ever since the ‘Switchman’ case,” he said, mentioning the case which had necessitated Jim’s solitary stakeout. “At first I thought that perhaps he was developing some sort of extra psychic ability, because you’ve always been an intuitive and instinctive cop,” he added, addressing Jim directly, albeit with a slightly self-conscious grin. “But then I began to realise that you really did seem to see and hear more than us ordinary mortals. And I remembered a conversation I had some while back with a young man who seemed to know a lot about people with enhanced senses. And I think he was describing someone like you, Jim.” 

He paused for a moment to study the expressions on his listeners’ faces, not altogether surprised at what he saw. Simon’s face was a study in frowning scepticism, and Joel suspected that he was only holding himself back from scoffing at Joel’s claim with great difficulty. 

On the other hand, although clearly perplexed, Jim’s interest had obviously been piqued, and there was just the faintest glimmer of hope in the cool blue eyes. “Well, come on, man. Who is this person?” Simon growled impatiently, so Joel met his gaze steadily as he used his most persuasive tone. 

“Do you recall that anthropology grad student from Rainier who asked to ride with detectives from various departments in the PD in order to gather data for his doctoral dissertation? It was a couple of years or so back, before I transferred to MCU?” 

Frown deepening, Simon wracked his brains, and after a minute or so he murmured thoughtfully, “Yeah, I think I do. Wasn’t the subject something to do with closed societies? When the Chief asked me if I’d agree, I turned him down flat! I mean, the last thing I wanted was some nerdy academic hampering my people in the field, or even worse, getting himself killed! I thought he decided to study the Fire Department and Emergency Medical Services instead.” 

“Yes, yes he did after a while. But it was when I was still heading up the Bomb Squad, and after meeting him, I let him spend a few hours with my guys. I really liked the young man, and while he was with us, he did me a huge service. He was the one who talked me through defusing that bomb in the church when I’d lost my nerve. I know I transferred out soon afterwards, but at least I completed a successful mission before I did so. His name is Blair Sandburg. Dr Sandburg now, as I understand he submitted and defended his dissertation last year.” 

“Well, good for him,” Simon muttered, with not a little sarcasm. “But what’s that got to do with Jim?” 

“I’m getting to that!” Joel replied, just a trifle testily. “You see, I had quite a few conversations with him, and got to know him fairly well. He told me that he had gotten his Master’s degree with a paper on tribal sentinels – individuals who had enhanced senses which they used for the benefit of their tribes. He told me he had wanted to do his doctoral paper on modern sentinels and their role in an urban environment, but couldn’t find one to study. He found many people with one or two heightened senses, but not all of them, so he changed his topic and studied closed societies instead. 

“But what if Jim is one of these ‘sentinels’? I mean, even if he only has one or two enhanced senses, it could still confirm that he really did see and hear everything he claims about the shooting. All we need to do is contact Blair and ask him to do some tests and be an expert witness, if it ever goes to trial. And in the meantime, he could work with Jim and give him some help and advice about how to cope. I’m sure he’d agree, Simon. He’s a really good-hearted young man, I promise you, and I never had cause to doubt his integrity.” 

For long moments, Joel was convinced that Simon was going to turn him down flat, his disbelief written all over his face, but he was forestalled by Jim’s quiet comment. 

“If you can vouch for him, Joel, then I guess he must be OK. You’re a good judge of character, and I trust you, so yes. If you think he could help me, I’ll see him.” 

And despite Simon’s huff of disapproval, Joel’s face broke out into huge grin of relief. 

“Thanks, Jim. You won’t be disappointed, I’m sure of it. So, I’ll go and call Dr Sandburg, shall I?” 

And at Simon’s reluctant nod he rose to his feet, intending to set the ball in motion without further ado.  


\------------------------------------  


**Enter Dr Sandburg:**  


**Following afternoon, the loft, 852 Prospect:**  


Unable to sit still, Jim paced around the loft like a large, predatory cat, his twitching senses driving him almost to distraction. He knew that Simon was watching him worriedly, but frankly he felt so bad – so antsy – that he simply didn’t have it in him to pretend he was anything other than totally miserable, even to alleviate his friend’s concern. If this anthropology buddy of Joel’s couldn’t help him after all, he decided that he wouldn’t wait for IA to suspend him permanently – he’d just use his personal handgun to save them the trouble and expense. He admitted to himself that he was at his wits’ end, but he truly wanted to believe that this young Doctor actually did know what he was talking about. Jim loved his job; being a cop was all he wanted to be, at least for the foreseeable future. Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks, his hearing picking up on the rhythmic th-thump of an unfamiliar heartbeat, but one which seemed to call to him. It was accompanied by another, which Jim absently recognised as Joel’s, but his concentration was wholly on the other one. Unconcerned that Simon was watching him curiously, he moved towards the door, throwing it open to reveal Joel with his hand already raised to knock, and another, much smaller figure, who didn’t seem as surprised as Joel was to have the announcement of their arrival pre-empted by Jim. Stepping forward, the smaller man almost bounced on the spot as he beamed up into Jim’s rather bemused face, holding out his hand in a friendly fashion. 

“Hello, Detective Ellison. I’m so pleased to meet you. Dr Blair Sandburg at your service, man.” 

For a long moment Jim was dumbstruck. The young man was absolutely gorgeous, and his voice was like honey to his sensitive ears. And that scent! Jim had already found that so many individuals’ personal scents were displeasing to him now – some to the extent of being obnoxious, depending on their body odour or overuse of perfumes and colognes – but Sandburg’s was delectable. Jim found himself suddenly wanting to pull the small body into his arms in order to bury his nose behind a shapely earlobe where he just knew the scent would be strongest. 

This was ridiculous, and Jim reacted in his tried and trusted way – by firmly repressing his physical reactions and going on the offensive. 

“How did you know who I was?” he growled suspiciously, rudely ignoring the outstretched hand. “Has Joel told you so much about me already?” 

He was uncomfortably aware of the flash of hurt that morphed quickly into a frown of disapproval on his colleague’s normally genial features, but he was busy watching Sandburg’s reactions, inwardly chastising himself for his unwarranted brusqueness and hoping that his unwelcoming attitude hadn’t frightened off his potential saviour before they had even spoken properly. 

Luckily for Jim, it seemed that Sandburg was made of sterner stuff than his outward appearance would have one believe, so that although his ready smile had been replaced by an irritated frown, he didn’t back off or flounce out of the door in a justifiable hissy fit. 

“It’s OK, Joel,” he murmured aside to his friend even as he maintained eye contact with Jim. “If Detective Ellison is what I believe he could be, his attitude is understandable, if not acceptable. But hopefully we can do something about that. That’s if you _do_ want my help, Detective?” 

And what else could Jim do but accept the undeserved olive branch with reluctant gratitude, stepping back to allow both men to enter properly. 

“I apologise for the bad behaviour, Dr Sandburg, Joel,” he murmured somewhat sheepishly. “Believe it or not, I’m glad that you agreed to make time to see me. If you can cast any light on this – this _affliction_ – I’ll be very grateful,” and he ushered them into the living room to meet Simon and get comfortable while he did his best to recover a modicum of equilibrium. 

Smile and bounce instantly restored, Sandburg replied, “No problem, Jim. May I call you Jim? If you don’t mind, I’d like to begin right away by explaining what exactly the ‘sentinel’ phenomenon entails, according to my personal studies and those of the first man to recognise it, Sir Richard Burton - the explorer, not the actor - and if you’re satisfied that I have a reasonable grasp of the subject, we’ll go on from there, OK?” 

Absently wondering how Sandburg could get so many words out in one breath, Jim simply nodded, happy to let the Professor lead the discussion. He had a feeling that he was about to hear the most important lecture of his life. 

Although Sandburg had taken a seat next to Joel, Jim looked on with rapt attention as the young man bounced to his feet again, plainly too energised and enthusiastic about his favourite topic to sit still. As he paced back and forth before his small audience, Jim found himself captivated as much by the lilt and cadence of the honey-toned voice as by the subject matter, the expressive hands complementing Sandburg’s eloquence as he provided them with a succinct summary of the nineteenth century British explorer who was first to record his observations concerning indigenous sentinels in his monograph _‘The Sentinels of Paraguay’._ He freely admitted that it was the discovery of a rare copy of this work that had fired his own interest in the subject, such that he had completed his Master’s thesis on historically referenced indigenous sentinels, adding – with a slightly self-conscious smirk – that he had had the incredible fortune of being able to study the genuine article whilst on an expedition to Peru. 

All this was well and good, but Jim found his attention wandering a little, firstly to note his friends’ reactions to the brief summary, and then to really studying the young professor in as much detail as possible. He was quietly amused to note Joel’s expression, which was one of almost paternal pride and joy, as compared with Simon’s, which was a thin-lipped scowl indicative of his discomfort with such an esoteric subject. 

As for Sandburg himself, Jim spent a few moments happily immersing himself in the impact the small, energetic bundle of anthropologist was having on him. It didn’t occur to him immediately that his senses were for once completely aligned and cooperative in the young man’s presence. All he knew was that he was at liberty to study his fascinating guest in minute detail, and that he was more than happy with his conclusions. 

Although relatively short in stature as compared to Jim’s buff, six-foot-plus physique, and Simon’s even taller figure, Sandburg was slender, lithe and compact, his body in perfect proportion as Jim noted the surprisingly wide shoulders, narrow waist and hips and sturdy, shapely legs. He was dressed in a black leather jacket, beneath which he wore a blue, button down shirt which complemented the huge, cerulean blue eyes. The shirt was open at the neck to reveal a tantalising glimpse of soft chest hair, plus a leather and bead necklace of ethnic origin. He had an ass to die for, and the clean, well–worn and form-fitting jeans he wore showed off his other assets to the full while his small, neat feet were encased in comfortable hiking boots. 

But it was his face and hair that really captured the attention. His long, dark auburn curls were contained in a neat ponytail at his nape, and Jim was enchanted by the two small gold hoops which adorned one sculpted earlobe. Almost pretty rather than conventionally handsome, Sandburg was beautiful in a purely masculine way. The wide brow was smooth above those big, expressive eyes, and the neat nose and high, well-defined cheekbones were complemented by a strong jaw and chin, and the lushest, most alluring mouth Jim had seen in many a long day, on either male or female. All that bounty was perched upon a long, elegant neck, such that Jim found himself wondering just how good it would feel to be able to sample and taste such bounty at will. 

For a moment the strength of his reactions confused him, but then he discounted his unease, accepting that he had never been averse to indulging in a buddy-fuck on occasion during his time in the military when female company was in short supply. Then again, it had always been with a similar type to himself; buff, built and happy to scratch an itch with no strings attached. Sandburg was totally different in almost every respect – not Jim’s usual type at all – and anyway, Jim hadn’t dated another man since joining the PD, unwilling to make unnecessary waves. But there was certainly something about him. Something genuinely attractive…. 

Suddenly, Jim’s attention snapped back to what Sandburg was saying, and he bridled in furious affront as he focussed on the offensive words. “….if Jim is the real deal, you see, he’s like a throwback to a pre-civilised form of….” 

And that was as far as Sandburg got before Jim shot from his seat with a roar of rage and seized the young man by his lapels, lifting him from his feet and shaking him as he snarled, “You calling me a _caveman_ , Professor? Where do you get off insulting me like that?” 

He was peripherally aware that Simon and Joel both reacted simultaneously, Simon barking out, “Stand down, Detective!” as Joel reached for Jim’s arm, his face clouded with uncharacteristic anger as he cried, “Jim! What the hell do you think you’re doing? Let him go!” 

As for Sandburg, although his eyes were wide with shock, and Jim could feel the tremors running through the compact body in his hands, he didn’t back down, and Jim was reluctantly impressed by his captive’s courage under duress. 

“Whoa there, Joe Friday! Look, Jim. I’m sorry that comment didn’t come over very well, but if you’ll just put me down, I’ll explain better what I mean, OK? It wasn’t meant to be an insult, man! All I meant was, if you are truly what I think you are, you have retained a natural genetic advantage that makes you special. Not a caveman, or some sort of mutant freak, OK?” 

Embarrassed now, Jim lowered Sandburg carefully back to his feet, releasing his hold and backing up a step, hands now raised in an unthreatening gesture. 

“Sorry, Professor,” he muttered shame-facedly. Then he looked around all three of his visitors, including them all in his apology. “It’s just that, ever since this sensory nonsense began, I’ve been fighting for some sort of control – thought I was going crazy. And to have you say I’m some sort of throwback doesn’t go down well, OK? So, what can I do to turn them off?” 

The astonishment on Sandburg’s face would have amused Jim under other circumstances, as the young man gasped incredulously, “But why would you want to do that, Jim? I mean, I’m not sure you _can_ turn them off now you’re on-line, so to speak. But think of how they could help you, man, once you’ve learned how to control them! You’d be a walking organic crime lab, Jim!” 

Simon’s snort of derision was loud enough to distract them all, even as Joel murmured, “Simon!” in quiet but profound disapproval and reproach. 

However, after a moment of uncomfortable silence, they all seemed to take a mutual step back, and seated themselves again, all three older men automatically looking to Sandburg to continue the discussion. 

“OK, Jim, let’s back up a bit. I think I was getting ahead of myself, for which I also apologise. It’s just that I had become convinced that the full sentinel phenomenon had effectively disappeared in modern society – perhaps because the gifts were no longer needed in an increasingly technological world. 

“That’s not to say that the gene isn’t still there – just that it seems to remain dormant under most circumstances unless needed. But just because I could only come up with examples of people with one or two heightened senses – like perfumers, virtuoso musicians, wine tasters and such – doesn’t mean to say that the real deal wasn’t still out there, waiting to be called forth. I mean, in indigenous tribes, the sentinel is highly valued, and rightly so. A community’s survival might depend on his gifts. But in order to ‘switch on’ their senses, if you will, latent sentinels spend time alone in the jungle. I understand from Joel that you underwent a protracted solo stakeout a while back, is that so? Because I think that that is when your senses emerged – or maybe re-emerged? Do you recall anything like this happening in your past?” 

At that, Jim frowned. He had a sneaking suspicion that Sandburg’s perspicacity was right on the nail, because he had a niggling feeling that maybe this wasn’t new to him after all. But damned if he could recall anything more than a fleeting and tantalising glimpse of something – some occasion? - that remained obstinately beyond his grasp. _‘Ellison, thy name is Repression,’_ an inner voice muttered snidely. 

“Sorry, Chief. Can’t think of anything right now. But if I am one of these sentinels, how do I control it? And why is it so hard?” 

“Because it’s like any new skill or sport, Jim,” Sandburg answered eagerly. “You just need to practice, is all. Like training for the Olympics, man. It doesn’t just happen! 

“So, all your senses are heightened then? Lights too bright, everything too loud, overpowering smells and taste off the scale? Extra touchy-feely?” 

Jim’s instinctive reaction was to tell him to mind his own business, but he quelled the thought, knowing that he had to ‘fess up if he wanted help. 

“Yeah, all of the above,” he muttered reluctantly. 

Sandburg nodded thoughtfully. “OK, Jim. I believe you. I really do, man. Look, I think you’ve probably got enough to think about for the time being, but I’m happy to come back tomorrow, and we can continue this discussion, OK? I’ll give it some thought, and see if I can come up with some suggestions for control techniques, and we’ll work on testing your range a bit. 

“Because although I’m happy to work with you and go on the witness stand if you need me, I don’t think it would be a good idea to reveal your true capability. I mean, I won’t lie, but neither do I think it’ll do you any favours to tell all, OK?” 

“Why the hell not, Sandburg?” Simon growled. “Why wouldn’t you tell a board of enquiry everything you know – or think you know? Doesn’t Jim deserve to have everything out in the open?” 

“Protection, Captain Banks. Because if I’m right, and Jim is the real deal, the last thing he needs is for the bad guys out there to know he has an edge. Because his gift comes with a few built-in drawbacks that I haven’t covered yet which could be used against him. He’s not Superman, and he’s not a freak, but you know what society’s like. The media would make a big deal out of it if they were to get wind of just what he could achieve. 

“Hell, although a few years ago you would have been my Holy Grail, man,” he continued, eyeing Jim almost reverentially, “I wouldn’t have been able to write about you for my dissertation anyway, because I wouldn’t have been able to guarantee your anonymity. And in your job that could be disastrous. But I’ll work with you as much as you need, Jim, because I don’t think there’s anyone else out there with the knowledge and expertise, not to put too fine a point on it. What do you say?” 

“I say, thank you, Dr Sandburg. Because now I know I’m not crazy, and I believe you’ll do your best by me to get through this, both in terms of learning about the senses and the IA investigation. It’s more than I expected – and probably more than I deserve, given my behaviour so far.” 

He was rewarded with a beaming smile as the smaller man bounced to his feet again. “You’re welcome, Jim. See you tomorrow then? Bright and early?” 

And Jim knew he was finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, and that light was Dr Blair Sandburg.  


\-------------------------------------  


**Dr Sandburg’s office, Hargrove Hall, Rainier University later that evening:**  


Seated at his desk, Blair pored over numerous papers scattered over the surface, occasionally comparing what he was reading with other material on the computer screen in front of him, and jotting down notes and ideas on the pad beside him. Despite the lateness of the hour, he still felt energised; unwilling to waste a moment of this opportunity to help an individual who had been at the forefront of his thoughts and dreams for so many years. 

True, he hadn’t envisaged said individual to appear in the form of a buff, macho cop, but after all this time, he wasn’t complaining. And it was logical after all that someone who was genetically wired to work for the benefit of his tribe would choose a profession whose motto was ‘Protect and Serve’. It vindicated his belief after all, regarding the existence of modern sentinels, even if he no longer needed the man to be the subject of his doctoral dissertation. It could be that, in due course, he might be able to write about Ellison in general terms; enough, at least, to perhaps provide some supportive literature for others out there who might be suffering from the same hypersensitivity. Because if Jim Ellison had finally manifested, who was to say that there weren’t others? 

But meanwhile, Blair was determined to do his best by Ellison, not only because it was his speciality subject, but because deep down, he felt a real compulsion to do so. He had no real notion as to where that thought came from, but it was there nonetheless, and he couldn’t ignore it. 

Pausing for a moment from his note-taking, he sat back in his seat, mulling over that idea and indulging himself in a few minutes’ of daydreaming. Or should he say, ‘fantasising’? 

Because it hadn’t escaped his notice that, bad temper notwithstanding, the irascible cop was a walking wet dream as far as Blair was concerned. True, he loved women – in fact, he dated them almost exclusively – but that didn’t mean to say he was immune from admiring – and desiring – the occasional studly hunk. As his evergreen hippy mom would say, it was the person, not the package that was important, and how could he not lust after a package like Ellison? But he had no illusions about his own appearance or stature, and it was this that had prevented him from going any further than first base with any of his few male dates thus far. Self-preservation was more important than sexual gratification under those circumstances, as he certainly didn’t do pain. 

But he could dream, couldn’t he? And he smiled gently as he recalled everything he could about Jim’s appearance, greedily picturing the handsome man in his mind’s eye. Blessed with a body that could put Michelangelo’s David to shame, it was obvious that the cop worked hard to maintain himself in peak condition, but without the narcissistic attitude of a gym queen. And that face! 

Although Ellison’s patrician features had been marred by lines of stress and indubitable pain and irritation during their meeting, Blair was sure that, once relaxed and happy, the big cop’s smile would be stunning, especially when it lit up those cool blue eyes. And for a moment, Blair wondered how it would feel to have that smile directed at him, in friendship and understanding. He didn’t dare allow himself to think in terms of anything deeper in order to protect his heart from unnecessary pain. After all, he had learned that lesson early on during his itinerant childhood, following his mom on her constant travels in search of love and spiritual enlightenment. It didn’t do to make close friends, because they would always have to be left behind, and he had witnessed with his own eyes the string of disappointed would-be suitors from whom Naomi detached with love without so much as a backward glance. No way was he going to allow himself to hurt or be hurt in that way if he could help it. It was always better to recognise the signs and make himself scarce before he was given his marching orders. 

Pushing that melancholy train of thought aside, he turned his mind once more to his notes, wondering how Jim would accept Blair’s suggestions about controlling his senses. He was, after all, flying by the seat of his pants here, never having worked with the real deal before, and only having theoretical knowledge and instinct to guide him. The information he had gleaned from the indigenous pair he had managed to study for a brief period didn’t really apply under these circumstances, because that pair had been partners in every sense of the word, matched in early childhood, and as far as Blair knew, not only was Jim single, but he only worked with a police partner when forced to. 

And wasn’t that going to be a fun proposition to put to the big cop? How would Ellison react to being told that he needed to have a companion to back him up at all times if he wished to use the senses to the fullest extent? It was a side to the sentinel phenomenon that was little discussed in Burton’s monograph; perhaps because he had considered such a person to be of lesser interest; but Blair had always had a sneaking suspicion that the role of the companion was far more important than just making sure his sentinel didn’t zone out. Which was another aspect that Blair was going to have to explain to Ellison, and who knew how Jim would take that? 

Just for a moment he wondered with a touch of wistful longing how it would feel to actually be such a companion, especially to one such as Jim Ellison. It would surely eclipse any other type of relationship Blair could imagine in terms of trust and empathy, and would probably have to be for life if it was to work to its best advantage, and that would mean a measure of commitment Blair couldn’t really contemplate. He had never learned that lesson when it applied to any other lover, backing off before the relationship reached that point in order to avoid potential heartbreak for either partner. 

But perhaps now would be the opportunity to find out? Now there was a thought. 

And he squashed it almost as soon as it arose, his fear of being tied down raising its ugly head again, and also believing that it would undoubtedly be the last thing Jim Ellison, macho hunk and self-contained loner, would even deign to contemplate. 

No, he would just go to their next meeting, offer as much practical help as he could, and try not to harbour any greater expectations for the sake of his own peace of mind. 

And on that thought, he logged off his computer and gathered his notes together, intending to try and get a reasonable amount of sleep, because he was sure that tomorrow was going to be a pretty fraught day.  


\------------------------------------  


**Following morning, the loft:**  


Once again Jim paced impatiently around his home, unable to sit still as he anticipated the arrival of Dr Sandburg. He was well aware that he was irritating Simon, who was sitting in the lounge area nursing a cup of coffee, but couldn’t help himself. He knew that Simon didn’t want to be here, having enough to do at the PD without personally supervising his detective’s latest ‘interview’, and appreciated the fact that Simon cared enough about Jim’s wellbeing to put himself out in this way. Then again, until the IA enquiry - scheduled for the following day - was underway, it was advisable for someone of Simon’s standing to witness any developments in Jim’s defence. The fact that this particular line of defence troubled the pragmatic captain profoundly didn’t worry Jim overmuch, since he personally was becoming more and more convinced that Sandburg could well be the answer to his problems, both in forensic and physical terms. 

The simple truth was that Jim now believed that there was something in the younger man’s actual presence that helped him as much as the advice he offered. After Sandburg had left the previous afternoon, Jim’s senses remained stable for several hours, enough to allow him to enjoy a decent night’s sleep for once. His control had continued relatively successfully through breakfast, and was only now beginning to slip. 

His restless prowling was brought up short by Simon’s grumbling complaint. “For God’s sake, man, sit down! You’re driving me insane with this constant movement. He’ll be here soon enough, for what good it’ll do. Don’t you think that you’d be better served concentrating on preparing your statement for tomorrow? A statement based on acceptable evidence rather than this ‘Sentinel voodoo’ shit?” 

Jim turned to face his captain and friend, fighting to control his own irritation as he recognised how hard it must be for the older man to give any credence to Sandburg’s theories. Hell, he was living them, and he found it difficult enough. 

“Sorry, Simon, but I feel…I don’t know… _sure_ somehow that Sandburg can help me. I can’t explain it in any way that’ll make sense to you, as I don’t even know myself why it should be. It’s just something that occurred to me last night. It seems to be as much a physical reaction to the man himself as anything. But while he was here, my senses all settled down, and stayed that way until a while ago, when they started to slip again. 

“But now I feel OK,” he continued thoughtfully, cocking his head in a listening pose, “because he’s just entered the building. I can hear him…” and a relieved grin broke out on his face. 

Simon’s disbelieving scowl made no impression on Jim as the big cop moved towards the door, listening intently as all his senses seemed to align and settle on the approaching visitor. Sandburg was here, and right now, that was all that mattered. 

Moments later, he threw open the door to reveal Sandburg’s compact person, the younger man’s attractive face grinning knowingly as he stood with his hands in his pockets, fully expecting Jim to have heard him already. 

“Hey, Jim! Good morning, and how far away could you hear me coming?” and he bounced on his toes as Jim grinned ruefully in response. 

“I heard you enter the building, Chief,” he admitted, his own grin widening as Blair chuckled appreciatively. 

“Cool, Jim! And if you can do that without really trying, just think how much better it’ll be when you’re used to it!” 

“Yeah, right!” Jim replied sardonically, although he stood aside to usher his guest inside. “For now, all I want to do is learn how to control these senses so they don’t drive me crazy!” 

Blair’s expression sobered into one of sympathetic understanding. “I hear that, man. So, let’s get started, shall we? I have some ideas that you might find helpful,” and Jim sighed in relief as they made their way into the lounge area. 

Simon’s expression was less than welcoming as he half-rose from his seat to shake Blair’s proffered hand, but Jim was pleased to note that the young professor didn’t appear to be inclined to let his boss’s attitude faze him. He merely murmured a polite greeting and took the seat that Jim indicated, his attention firmly focussed on the Sentinel as Jim moved around the kitchen fixing a welcome mug of coffee for his guest. 

Social niceties dispensed with, Blair set down his empty mug and fixed Jim with an earnest gaze, plainly ready to begin what was to turn out to be an intense but ultimately rewarding discussion. 

“OK, Jim, so, how have you been since yesterday? Any more sensory spikes? You seemed to be in reasonable control when we parted company.” 

“No, Dr Sandburg, no spikes, and since you mention it, I had a pretty good night. In retrospect I noticed that my senses were easier to manage during our meeting, and they stayed fairly settled until just a couple of hours before you arrived. And now they’re OK again.” 

Looking thoughtful, Blair nodded, saying “OK, Jim – and please call me Blair. Or ‘Chief’, if you prefer!” he added with a mischievous grin. “I’m glad to hear that, and hope that what I’m about to suggest will help you maintain that control at least while you’re not deliberately using them.” And although for now he filed away the implication of what effect on Jim his own physical presence seemed to be, he suspected that it would come up later once he broached the topic of a partner for Jim. And wasn’t that something to look forward to – not! 

“Now, this is probably going to sound a little ‘out there’, but I hope you’ll give it a try Jim,” he continued, using his most persuasive voice. “I want you to close your eyes and picture something like one of those old-style radio sets with a dial for each sense, OK? Each dial is numbered from one to ten, with one being the lowest setting. With practice, you should be able to turn them up and down at will, and hold them there at a normal setting, say, number three. With me so far?” 

As he might have expected, Jim’s expression was perplexed, to say the least, while Simon’s was downright derisive, but Blair had had plenty of experience in dealing with similar reactions from his peers when he was still attempting to pursue the ‘modern sentinel’ topic for his dissertation. And as it happened, this time he got some help from an unexpected source. The sudden screech of an alarm from the next door building ripped through the fragile control Jim had had on his hearing, and he clapped his hands over his ears, eyes squeezed shut and face creased in lines of pure distress. 

As Simon looked on incredulously, Blair immediately dropped to his knees beside the suffering man, and began to stroke his shoulder and upper arm gently, murmuring instructions almost sub-vocally. 

“I’m here, Jim. I know it’s hard, but try to follow my voice and feel my touch. Find the dial, Jim. Find the dial for hearing and turn it down, man. Picture it in your head, Jim. It’s probably set at ten right now. Grab hold of it and turn it down slowly, one notch at a time until it’s comfortable. Come on, man. You can do it.” 

He continued in the same vein for several minutes, aware that Simon was ready to intervene at any moment, and was mightily relieved when there was the faintest nod of acceptance and a slight relaxation in Jim’s tortured features. Finally the big man sighed heavily, and slowly sat back in his seat, eyes still closed as he gradually regulated his breathing again. 

“It worked, Blair,” he murmured softly, cracking open one eye to meet Blair’s anxious gaze. “Took some doing, and I’m not sure it would have worked without your being here, but I could see it. I could see the dial in my head, and I managed to turn it down. It’s at three at the moment, and seems to be holding.” 

Blair’s face was a picture of happiness and relief as he beamed at Jim. “Oh, man! I’m so glad. I mean, I had no idea whether it would really work. I have no empirical evidence on which to base my theory, but it just came to me. I just want to help, man,” he added softly, pinking a little in sudden shyness as his glance slid away for a moment. He therefore missed the speculative and almost predatory look that briefly crossed Jim’s face before they were both distracted by Simon’s gruff-voiced comment. 

“Jesus, Jim! If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I wouldn’t have believed it. Is this what it’s been like for you over the last few weeks? No wonder you’ve been a bear to work with. But now the professor’s explained how you can control your senses, will you be OK now? Can you go back to work if we can clear you with IA?” 

Before Jim could respond, Blair cut in, even though he knew his words would undoubtedly infuriate the big captain yet again. 

“No, Captain Banks. I’m afraid it’s not quite as easy as that. I mean, it’s true that with practice Jim will be able to control his senses under most circumstances, but there is another, much more dangerous aspect that we haven’t covered yet. And I think you’ll both see how much it will influence Jim’s performance at work and perhaps his very lifestyle once I explain. Can I continue?” 

As both men nodded, not without marked reluctance on Simon’s part, he pushed himself up from his place on the floor beside Jim and took his seat again. Turning to face Jim, he asked, “Have you ever had any instances of losing time recently, Jim? Waking up from what feels like some sort of fugue state?” 

He was unsurprised when Jim nodded, a troubled frown creasing his brow as he glanced almost apologetically up at the younger man. “Yeah, it’s happened once or twice, Chief. Never at work, luckily, but it’s something that’s worried me. I thought I might be epileptic or something, but the docs assure me that it’s nothing like that.” 

“What it is, Jim, is what Burton referred to as a ‘zone-out’. It’s when you get wrapped up in one sense to the exclusion of everything else. It makes you vulnerable, and that’s why you will always need to work with a partner, Jim. Someone who knows what to look out for, and can bring you out if it when necessary. A sort of guide, if you will, who can help ground you when you’re using your senses, and can back you up should you fall into one of these zones.” 

“No! No way!” was Jim’s immediate and furious response. “I work alone, or not at all. If certain cases require me to work with a temporary partner like Joel, I can do that. But not a permanent partner. I can’t work that way!” 

Somewhat unexpectedly, it was Simon who managed to placate his friend this time, much to Blair’s relief. “Look, Jim, let’s not worry about that for now. Let’s take Dr Sandburg’s suggestions under advisement and come back to them at a later date. What’s more important is concentrating on how we’re going to present your case tomorrow. Perhaps Dr Sandburg is ready to help you with that now?” and he virtually glared over at Blair, challenging him to disagree. 

Blair knew that there was no way the topic of police partners was going to be discussed any further for the time being, so he nodded in reluctant agreement. “Fair enough, Captain Banks. So, as far as my input goes in respect of the enquiry, this is what I suggest. I’ll run a couple of tests on Jim’s sight and hearing capacity today so we’ll have the data with which to back up his claims. You’ll probably be asked to do a couple of demonstrations to prove your point, Jim, but that shouldn’t be a problem. But I don’t want to do any further testing for now on your other senses. What I don’t know, I can’t lie about, and speculation isn’t admissible as evidence anyway. I am perfectly happy to testify on your behalf as required, and assuming you’re cleared to return to duty, should you choose to work with me, I shall be happy to continue to do so. I can’t say fairer than that, although I admit I’m hoping that you will, for your own benefit.” 

Jim wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed at Sandburg’s capitulation, but common sense told him that both Simon and the young professor were right to prioritise what was needed for the enquiry. Time to consider the extent of Blair’s continuing help and support once Jim was free and clear.  


\--------------------------------  


**Following day, Cascade PD:**  


Jim sat in Simon’s office, his jaw clenching in aggravation as he awaited the call to attend the board of enquiry, which on this occasion was being set up in the Major Crimes conference room. It was an indication of how seriously his involvement in the Murcheson shooting was being taken that he would be facing no less than three of the IA team, including Sheila Irwin, the head of that department. And that in itself boded ill for Jim as far as he was concerned. There was no love lost between them, as he had crossed swords with Irwin before, and she had never forgiven him for coming out on top on the previous occasion. With the pressure the department was under from Kenny Murcheson’s parents, and even the Mayor himself, Jim was going to need every bit of help he could get to clear his name today. 

Having said that, he felt angry rather than apprehensive, trusting in his own integrity and that of his colleagues and his ‘expert witness’ in the shape of Dr Sandburg to see him through this farce. Not that he was naïve in any way when it came to certain individuals’ interpretation of the law and justice, but he believed he had the wherewithal to convince his inquisitors that he truly did have the ability he claimed. And therein lay the rub. He bitterly resented the necessity of having to perform like some circus act in order to demonstrate said ability, because despite what Sandburg declared to the contrary, it was sure to make him feel like some sort of freak after all. 

But there was no avoiding the issue if he was to get back on the street as soon as possible, because that was where he needed to be; and preferably working alone as was his wont. 

And that was another thing that was weighing heavily on his mind at the moment. If what Sandburg said was true about him needing a companion – and he had no reason to doubt the young professor’s belief – he still couldn’t see himself working permanently alongside any police partner. True, he both liked and respected Joel, and he got along well enough with most of the other detectives in the department – or at least, he had done before the senses had turned him into a veritable curmudgeon - but not to the extent of wanting to be partnered with them on a daily basis. 

In effect, the only person Jim could see himself working with was Blair Sandburg, and that wasn’t going to happen. Why would a well-respected tenured academic and teacher volunteer to work in the field with an irascible cop like Jim? Talk about the difference between a rollercoaster ride and a merry-go-round! No, a civilian like Blair couldn’t possibly be expected to ride with a cop even if he was willing to put his life on the line like that for Jim’s sake. Jim wouldn’t ask it of him, end of story. 

But a part of him truly wished that he could. Within a few short hours of acquaintance, he felt drawn to the younger man more than he had ever done with anyone in his life before, and that included his ex-wife, Lt Carolyn Plummer of the Forensics Department, with whom he had shared a doomed, eighteen-month travesty of a marriage. There was just something so compelling about Sandburg, which went beyond his physical appearance, although the gods knew that that was appealing enough. It was more the goodness that shone from within, and Jim knew it would be wrong to try and tie that gentle soul to him. 

Just then, Simon stuck his head around the door. “They’re ready for you, Jim. Are you OK?” 

And what else could Jim say in reply? “Yeah, Captain. I’m good to go. Let’s get this damned dog and pony show over with.”  


\-----------------------------------  


As the pair entered the conference room, Jim noted wryly that it had been laid out with the intention of making him as uncomfortable as possible from the outset. Irwin and her two cronies were aligned along one side of the table, while a single, hard chair was placed opposite them for Jim’s use. As Simon was there for observation only, and to provide moral support, the seat assigned to him was offset, just out of Jim’s line of sight. Another, more comfortable chair – presumably for use by Blair on his arrival – had been placed on Jim’s other side, but angled in such a way that he would be unable to make eye contact with Jim unless he turned around in his seat. 

Since Jim had declined to make use of a police legal representative, that was the sum total of occupants in the room. There was no need for a stenographer, since the entire proceedings would be recorded. Although Simon had pressed Jim to ask for a representative, Jim had turned him down on the grounds that if Blair failed to convince the panel of his ability, he was done for anyway, so there was no point in involving an extra body to complicate matters. 

Sheila Irwin’s expression was hard, and her eyes cool as she acknowledged Jim’s arrival, and as soon as he was seated, she got down to business. The charges were read out, and duly denied by Jim, except for admitting his failure to call out a warning before opening fire. At that point he wasn’t asked for his reasons for the omission, as that would undoubtedly be covered in detail once Sandburg’s evidence had been heard and examined. Then he was led through his statement yet again so that it could be compared to Joel’s given statement, and that of Morgan Westbrook. He kept his voice level and his manner matter-of-fact, knowing that Irwin was just dying for him to erupt and hang himself with angry and ill-considered outbursts, and he wasn’t about to give her that satisfaction. Not while he had Sandburg’s backup, anyhow. 

Then again, the temptation to confront the bitch was strong, and Jim had to work hard to control his simmering anger in the face of the panel’s shared and barely-disguised disbelief and cynicism, and Irwin’s patronising smirk. 

Just then, to Jim’s great relief, the door opened to admit Blair, and Jim immediately felt himself relax in the smaller man’s presence. The dials, which had begun to slip, righted themselves again, and he knew without doubt that, as long as Blair was here, he would be able to perform whatever test the panel required of him. 

He grinned inwardly at the way Sandburg had dressed for the occasion, plainly having deliberately gone for the ‘nerdy professor’ look in order to add weight to his testimony. Despite the earrings and ponytail, his wire-rimmed glasses, collar and tie, tweed sports jacket and khakis screamed ‘respectable teacher’, and in Jim’s opinion, he actually looked kind of cute. 

As Blair passed, he smiled warmly at Jim, and then turned his attention to the panel; introducing himself and unconsciously subjecting them to the full extent of his considerable charm and charisma, his megawatt smile plainly impressing Sheila, who caught herself very nearly preening under its heat. 

However, she quickly recovered her aplomb, and as Blair took his seat, the proceedings got underway again. 

Glancing at the papers in front of her, Irwin fixed Blair with a faintly wolfish smile as she said, “Dr Sandburg, I understand you worked with Captain Taggart for a while, gathering data for your doctoral dissertation, is that correct?” When Blair smiled and replied in the affirmative, she continued. “Captain Taggart certainly thought very highly of your input, and has vouched for your integrity, but could you explain what your dissertation was about? I understand it concerned some aspect of ‘closed societies’, did it not?” 

Again, Blair agreed, knowing just where she was going with this, but convinced that he could talk his way around any implication that his expertise on the subject of Sentinels was in any way questionable or lacking in depth. 

“That’s true, Detective Irwin. It wasn’t my first choice, I admit, but at the time there wasn’t enough evidence available in order for me to write a successful paper on modern day sentinels, which would have complemented my Master’s thesis on indigenous and historically-referenced tribal sentinels. 

“However, it remains my principle field of interest, and I think I can safely say that I am probably the leading expert – if not the only one at present – on the sentinel phenomenon.” 

At that point he gave a succinct explanation of the nature of sentinels, and the results of his own studies, knowing that he had to impress without boring his audience. Winding down, he offered each of the IA detectives an amiable smile, not in the least surprised by Irwin’s next question, having already anticipated its content. 

“So, Dr Sandburg, are you saying that Detective Ellison in one of these ‘sentinels’? Does he have five heightened senses?” and she couldn’t quite hide the derision in her tone and manner as she regarded him closely. 

“Not at all, Detective Irwin,” he replied with a cheerful smile. “I cannot make that claim. As I explained, I couldn’t find a full sentinel to study for my doctorate, but I did find many examples of individuals with one or two enhanced senses – which, I might add, is completely normal. A natural genetic advantage which is easily tested. You know; crack-shot snipers, virtuoso musicians, wine tasters, etc., etc. 

“I have tested Detective Ellison’s senses of sight and hearing, and I can tell you that they are most definitely enhanced.” This was indeed the whole truth, as he hadn’t run any further tests for that very reason. No way was he going to reveal what he believed to be the full extent of Jim’s gifts for the man’s own safety. If Jim wanted him to continue with testing once the enquiry was done, he would be happy to do so. Indeed, he desperately hoped that Jim would want him to. But for now he would stick to the facts as he knew them. 

“That’s all very well, Dr Sandburg, but I think we need to see a demonstration of these ‘enhanced senses’ in action, don’t you? So, how do you intend to prove your claim?” 

And Blair was happy to explain, even if the brief flash of distaste crossing Jim’s face told him exactly what the other man thought about it. But it had to be done, and Jim knew he had to suck it up and get on with it. 

First of all, Blair produced a pair of binoculars from out of his leather satchel, and passed them over to Irwin. He asked her to go to the window and pick out something in the building opposite, which she could only see with the binoculars. With tight-lipped ill-grace, she complied, and took several minutes to make up her mind before turning to Jim, who was waiting behind her. 

“Four windows from the right, on the eighth floor,” she snapped grudgingly. “There’s someone reading a newspaper. Tell me what the headline is.” 

Carefully splitting his attention between the touch of Sandburg’s warm hand resting inconspicuously at the small of his back, and his sight, Jim quickly located the window Sheila had indicated, and concentrated. 

“The headline reads, ‘Mayor Strickland’s Charity Ball’, and the column below lists the attendees. Do you want me to read them out?” Jim’s response was uttered in a cool, slightly superior tone that wasn’t lost on Irwin, whose irritated frown spoke of her frustration. 

“Here, you try!” she almost snarled, thrusting the binoculars at one of her colleagues. 

When the process was repeated twice more with targets located in buildings even further away, and Jim successful on each occasion, the three IA detectives had to admit defeat. However, Sheila hadn’t finished with Jim yet, and demanded to be shown proof of enhanced hearing. 

For this test, Blair asked that two of the board members go down a floor, and tape a short conversation between them. He gently coached Jim through following their progress and asked him to repeat verbatim what he overheard. His eyes closed, but with a faint smirk on his face, Jim did just that. 

1st voice: _‘I think this is nuts, but I guess it makes sense in a way. If Ellison can hear us from here, then he must’ve been able to overhear those kids. And for sure he must have been able to spot that car.’_

2nd voice: _‘Yeah, you’re right. I mean, I don’t like the smart-assed bastard, but he’s a good cop, and there’s never been any question of him lying before, so I think it’ll just be down to whether we think he was justified. And you know what? I’m thinking he was.’_

1st voice: _‘Hey, are you taping this?’_

2nd voice: _‘Yep. Let’s see how he gets on.’ (Shared laughter.)_

When the two IA detectives returned, and replayed the tape, it was obvious to all present that Jim really had heard every word. Blair was thanked for his input and allowed to go, and the hearing progressed taking the additional evidence into consideration. It wasn’t a foregone conclusion, but the decision was two to one in Jim’s favour, so the charges were dismissed and he was cleared to return to duty. And a very relieved Jim and Simon left the room to meet up with an anxious Sandburg, who had been waiting for them in Simon’s office. 

“Well, how did it go? Are you OK?” Sandburg’s eager question was blurted out the moment Jim opened the door. 

“Yes, Chief, thanks to you. Irwin still didn’t like it, but her colleagues were on my side, so I’m good to go,” and he smiled warmly at the bouncing young man in front of him. “And although it’ll get around soon enough about the sight and hearing, I think I’m still safe from being labelled a ‘sentinel’. Or a freak, all being well. After all, I only mentioned the information I gathered from those two senses, and Joel backed me up, so I think I can live with that much notoriety.” 

Smiling happily, Blair was about to reply, but was interrupted by Simon’s gruff-voiced comment. Although genuinely pleased at the outcome of the enquiry, the pragmatic captain needed to get back to normal as soon as possible, and that didn’t include any more of the sentinel nonsense. 

“Thank you for all your help, Dr Sandburg. I appreciate your input, as I know Jim does also, but now it’s time for him to get back to work. Crime in Cascade waits for no man, and his case-load is growing, so if you don’t mind?” and he held the door open in clear invitation for Sandburg to leave. 

Blair knew there was no point in trying to delay his departure in the face of the older man’s impatience, so he merely picked up his satchel and held out his hand in farewell, hiding his disappointment behind a polite smile. 

“That’s OK, Captain Banks. I know you’re a busy man, so I won’t keep you. It was a pleasure meeting you,” he added, just a little dryly, and with that, he turned to go. 

However, shooting his Captain a disapproving look at what he considered to be un-called for brusqueness, Jim placed a friendly hand on Blair’s shoulder and murmured, “I’ll walk you out, Chief, OK?” and he was rewarded by a grateful smile and nod of assent. 

As they walked down the corridor towards the elevators, Blair mused, “You know, Jim, until Joel told me just now, I didn’t realise that it was Kenny Murcheson you had to shoot. It saddens me, but I’m afraid I can’t say I’m truly surprised. As freshmen, he and Morgan Westbrook both took my Anthro 101 class. Like so many other students, they thought it was an easy way to get credits, and weren’t at all happy to find out otherwise. Can we say we had something of a falling–out when I couldn’t be persuaded or coerced into giving them the grades they wanted, so they ended up dropping the class, much to my relief. Let’s just say that they were utterly spoiled, unpleasant young men and leave it at that. 

“Anyhow,” he continued, this time much more eagerly. “Have you considered whether to pursue our testing programme? I know you’re happy with the dials idea, but there’s so much more to cover…” and the appeal and excitement in his eyes was easy to see. 

It was a pity that Jim had already decided against that plan, and although he hated to see the hurt and chagrin flash across Sandburg’s attractive face at his response, he still believed he was doing it for the best, especially for Sandburg’s sake. 

“I don’t think so, Chief, although I appreciate your help more than I can say. I think I can manage now, and to be honest, I just want to get on with my life as before, as much as possible, anyway. But thanks again for the offer, Chief,” and he patted Blair’s shoulder comfortingly. 

Although bitterly disappointed, particularly because he was certain that Jim was making a huge mistake, Blair resolutely pushed aside his own feelings and replied philosophically, “OK, Jim. If you’re sure you’re OK I’ll have to accept your wishes. 

“But if you ever need me, you know where to find me, man,” and with a wistful smile, he stepped into the elevator car which had just arrived, and sketched Jim a small wave as the doors slid shut. 

And as he watched the lights that marked the car’s descent, Jim couldn’t help but feel bereft, even if he still believed he was doing the only thing he could to protect them both.  


\-------------------------------------  


**Part 2: Retribution:**  


**That evening, Blair’s apartment:**  


Climbing the dusty stairs leading to his small apartment, Blair tried to shrug off the exhaustion that weighed heavily on him, knowing that it was as much spiritual as physical. After leaving the PD, he had worked long hours in his office at the U, determinedly trying to subdue his tumultuous emotions with grading and endless paperwork, but with limited effect. In the end, realising he had been staring sightlessly at the blue book in front of him for many minutes, he had given up and shut down his computer; beer and bed suddenly beckoning him. 

Shoving open the flimsy door, which was, as per usual, sticking because of the damp, he stepped into the shabby living space he called home, and gazed around him mournfully. However, although the tiny, cluttered apartment was little more than a cheap efficiency, it wasn’t the accommodation that depressed him, and he knew it. Heck, he had a life-long affiliation with austerity, and despite his newly-won position on faculty, he had little spare cash to spend on luxuries. After all, he was still at the bottom of the tenured academic food chain, and had heavy student loans to pay off, so the run-down rooms were all he could afford at present. 

No, he knew to the depths of his soul that he was struggling to put aside his profound disappointment at being basically dismissed by Jim Ellison. Part of him was deeply hurt and affronted by Jim’s refusal to work with him any further, especially after everything Blair had done for him already in terms of explanations regarding his ‘condition’, and his help during the enquiry, but that was only a petty reaction which was easily ignored. Another part of him should have been sighing with relief that he was no longer needed, so that the thorny topic of long-term commitment wouldn’t arise after all and he could get on with his life as he always had; unattached and free to do as he pleased. But this time he knew that that could no longer be his preferred goal. This time something deep within him demanded his full attention. A persistent inner voice nagged him to be strong, and not take Ellison’s refusal lying down. Ellison the Sentinel needed him, even if Jim the man didn’t, and Blair knew that he couldn’t deny this strange calling. But he was at a loss as to how to put his case with any degree of success. 

No way could he just turn up at Ellison’s door and demand to be assimilated into the man’s life at home and at work. Jim probably wouldn’t actively eject him, out of a sense of honour and decency in respect of favours already tendered, but for sure he would turn Blair away with more or less tactful denials of further need. After all, how could he, Blair, compete for the affection of a buff, macho cop? Even on platonic terms? Never having possessed much in the way of self-esteem, he was morosely aware of his pitiful physique in comparison to Ellison’s, and the mere thought of being able to attract such a magnificent specimen of a man was a joke. 

Suddenly he had had enough of the pity-party, and shook himself briskly as he scolded himself for his unrealistic desires. His mom Naomi had brought him up to believe that he should never covet either objects or people, because he would always end up disappointed. Better to travel light, footloose and fancy free, in order to seek the path to enlightenment alone and unencumbered just as she had always done. 

Feeling marginally better, he dropped his satchel on the floor by the door and moved to his tiny fridge to snag a beer. Kicking off his shoes, he sank down into the lumpy comfort of his single, ratty overstuffed chair. Raising the bottle to his lips, he took a long swig, and then, his face assuming a parody of his normal, infectious grin, he toasted himself wryly. “Get over yourself, Sandburg! Remember what the lady said. ‘Tomorrow is another day’!”  


\-----------------------------------  


If Blair had but known it, over on Prospect Jim was undergoing his own brand of self-analysis, and wasn’t particularly happy with the conclusions he was arriving at. After being formally reinstated that afternoon, he, Joel and Simon had gone to Barney’s Bar for a celebratory beer, but Jim had soon made his excuses and made tracks for home. Citing a stress-related headache as his reason for leaving early – which wasn’t far from the truth after all – he had returned to the loft to chill out in front of the TV and then get an early night so as to be on good form for his first day back on the job. 

He was well aware that neither Simon nor Joel had been particularly convinced by his explanation, but that was too bad. The truth was that after only a short while spent in the noisy atmosphere of the bar, Jim’s dials had begun to slip again, and he had quickly decided that he would be foolish to risk unnecessary sensory spikes without Sandburg’s presence to ground him. It was just tiredness after all, he told himself. Stress from the enquiry and everything that he had undergone over the past few weeks. 

Sitting alone in the semi-darkness of the loft he tried to convince himself that everything would be OK now in terms of the senses as long as he took it a day at a time, keeping himself fit and suitably rested and not trying to utilise his abilities any more than he needed to. He would practice the control technique Blair had suggested, and keep everything dialled down to as near normal as possible. And if that was a waste of his ‘gift’, then tough. He hadn’t wanted it in the first place, and however Blair described it, he still felt antsy and uncomfortably like the freak which he was afraid of being labelled as. He had been a good cop before the senses had come online, dammit, and he intended to try and remain at that level of performance. 

It was a pity that the little voice of his conscience whispered that he could be so much more if he had the courage. He had already had a taste of the huge advantage with which his senses could provide him at crime scenes, and it would be hard to justify ignoring his ability if by refusing to use it innocent people could be hurt. Blair had described sentinels as guardians who were proud to use their gifts to benefit their tribes. And as a cop, Jim had also sworn to ‘Protect and Serve’, so maybe he had a moral obligation to do the same. 

But at the end of the day, he really didn’t want to. He didn’t want the burden of the damned senses, and he certainly hadn’t asked for them. With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself up out of his seat, intending to shelve the inner debate for the time being as all it was doing was make his headache worse. He locked up the apartment and took himself off to bed, falling asleep remarkably quickly considering his unsettled state of mind. 

And dreamed of a beautiful, curly-haired young man lying in his arms, smiling up at him with open adoration glowing in huge blue eyes; adoration that was for him and him alone.  


\--------------------------------------------  


Meanwhile, in a large and beautifully presented _faux_ Georgian mansion situated across town in Cascade’s wealthiest residential area, an angry and deeply disappointed man sat in his opulent den, nursing a cut glass tumbler half-filled with expensive, single malt whisky. Norman Q Murcheson was in a very dark place, and he desperately needed something or someone to get him out of it. After a while, he lifted the glass to his lips and took a large sip, but hardly tasted the smooth liquor as its complex flavours exploded on his tongue. Instead, he lowered the glass and looked around him at the luxurious surroundings he usually took for granted, this time actually absorbing the details and idly attempting to see them as if through the eyes of an objective observer. 

The large but still intimate room was furnished in the tasteful, understated style of an established and superior gentleman’s club. The walls were decorated with original paintings interspersed with framed certificates proclaiming his many business accomplishments and civic rather than sporting awards, the whole complemented by the most advanced and costly IT equipment, TV and sound system currently available. It was the place where Norman liked to both entertain his closest business associates, and also to retire to when he desired a little down-time away from the demands of his work and busy social calendar. And, it had to be said, from his family also. 

His thoughts strayed further, contemplating his life thus far, and for once trying to maintain his own objectivity as much as possible. The exercise served to divert him somewhat from his melancholy brooding, so he spent some time at it, for the most part approving of what he saw in his mind’s eye. 

The product of established wealth and an Ivy League education, after graduating from Harvard Business School Norman had taken over a failing pharmaceutical firm from one of his father’s less successful business acquaintances. By dint of canny – and ruthless – reorganisation, financial acuity and the determined application of innovative but practical business models, he had turned the company around until it had become what it was today. One of the most successful companies in Cascade with an ever-increasing global market, and a shining example of what can be achieved through hard work and the single-minded pursuit and exploitation of every opportunity and advantage that came his way. 

And during this time, he had not neglected the social duty his family expected of him. He had obligingly married the daughter of one of his father’s closest friends, who had also lived up to her own family’s expectations. Isabelle Talbot-Murcheson was a beautiful and elegant socialite who, upon graduating college with the obligatory liberal arts degree, had been persuaded to tie herself to Norman, thus pooling the wealth and status of two of Cascade’s richest clans. She had lived up to her marital obligations by producing two children, after which, by mutual agreement, husband and wife took to sleeping in separate rooms. They still met up for mealtimes, and superficially, at least, kept up the appearance of a happy and well-respected couple. In effect, however, Isabelle lived her own life of leisure and comfort, enjoying every aspect of a rich, social whirl with a little charity work thrown in for good measure. 

And in truth, Norman had been quite content with the situation up until now. He had his own life to lead, and if it was business-orientated rather than concerned with frivolous sporting and social activities, it was his choice. Isabelle never neglected her role as a model wife and mother when it came to entertaining their friends at home and being seen in public together at elite society events. She was graceful, charming, and utterly self-centred, but since Norman was equally so, they rubbed along quite well. 

However, inevitably Norman’s thoughts turned to his offspring, and his mood darkened again. His older child, a daughter, had already continued the family tradition by marrying well straight from college, and who now ran her own impressive household in Portland, Oregon. Stephanie was a carbon copy of her mother, and was about as cool and unapproachable as far as her father was concerned, but he recognised that that was as much his fault as hers. He had had little interest in his daughter, only insofar as he expected her to follow an established pattern, and was happy to provide the wherewithal to allow her to do so. On the other hand, he had had considerably more interest in the younger child, because Kenneth Talbot Murcheson was his heir apparent, and as such was indulged and pampered unconditionally. He was the apple of Norman’s eye; and in his father’s blinkered vision, he was perfect. Well, maybe not quite perfect, but close enough as far as Norman was concerned, especially when viewed retrospectively through rose-tinted lenses. 

And now he was gone. Blasted from this existence by the unforgiving bullet of some sort of over-eager super-cop. And Norman wanted – _needed_ – revenge. 

Part of Norman’s problem was that, even at the risk of alienating another of Cascade’s wealthiest and most influential clans, he simply could not believe that Kenny could possibly have had any part in planning to defraud his own father’s company. It had to have been Morgan Westbrook Jnr’s plan. All along he had led Kenny into scrapes and trouble that both boys’ parents had had to buy them out of on occasion, and yet it was Kenny who had paid the ultimate penalty. And to make matters worse, according to Norman’s high-powered lawyer, it was highly unlikely that he could take his revenge on that murdering cop either. Much as he desired to see the bastard in court, accused of manslaughter at the very least, that no longer appeared to be an option. Apparently the man had claimed to have better eyesight and hearing than normal, and had somehow managed to convince his internal investigation panel that his ludicrous version of events was the correct one so that all charges against him had been dropped. Richard O’Hare, Norman’s lawyer and good friend, had also informed Norman that the cop, Detective James Ellison, was none other than the son of William Ellison, of Ellison Enterprises, Inc. Although not a particular friend, Norman was familiar with William through mutual acquaintances and interests in the business and financial community, and Ellison’s reputation was such that one didn’t trifle with him without very good reason. 

But someone had to pay for Kenny’s death. Someone needed to satisfy the angry and distraught father’s need for vengeance, and if that someone couldn’t be the cop that pulled the trigger, then it should be the interfering so-called ‘expert witness’ that had helped get him off the hook. 

Dr Blair Sandburg wouldn’t know what had hit him. And Norman would make it hurt.  


\-------------------------------------  


**Two days later: Blair’s office, Hargrove Hall:**  


Sighing deeply, Blair took off his spectacles and rubbed his gritty eyes with thumb and forefinger, trying to stave off the tiredness that gripped him. He had just finished marking the last of his Anthro 101 students’ test papers, and had intended to do a little on his most recent article for _‘Anthropology Today’_ magazine, but it looked as if that would have to wait until tomorrow. Seated at his desk, he leaned back in his chair and suddenly yawned mightily, ruefully aware that he was fighting a losing battle but not too worried about it. It was late, and he’d been working solidly since early morning, doing his best to convince himself that all was as it should be in his world. For the last two days, ever since he had parted from Jim at the PD, he had thrown himself back into his normal frenetic routine in a bid to pretend that the tantalising glimpse into Jim’s world – the world of a Sentinel, if the man wasn’t so damned stubborn – didn’t leave Blair yearning for more. It had worked up to a point, insofar as he was deliberately driving himself to exhaustion so he wouldn’t have the energy to brood on pitiful pipedreams while alone in his shabby apartment at night, and the interaction between his students and colleagues at least held his loneliness at bay during the day. But deep down he knew he was kidding himself. It was more than just animal attraction or unrequited lust for Jim the man, or mere academic interest in Jim the reluctant Sentinel. He couldn’t explain it, even to himself, but there was something more fundamental – more compelling – about his desire which went beyond anything he’d ever felt before. 

And it was frightening him silly. 

He could rail at his insistent longing, scolding himself roundly for his naiveté as much as he liked, but the desire to seek out Ellison’s company simply refused to listen. He could only hope that time would ease the compulsion, because for sure it was wearing him down. 

Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was nearly 10.00 p.m., and he knew he’d have to make a move before the security guards threw him out. Logging off from his PC, he gathered his belongings together and stuffed them in his soft leather satchel, pulling the door to behind him as he stepped into the corridor, his mind preoccupied as he locked up on autopilot. He therefore jumped in fright as he almost collided with Bart Jenkins, the night security guard who had been striding purposefully towards him. 

“Goddess! I’m sorry, Bart,” Blair stuttered in flustered apology. “I wasn’t looking where I was going at all. You OK?” 

The normally cheerful man put a steadying hand on Blair’s shoulder as he replied, and Blair was instantly concerned at the dismay on his blunt features. 

“I’m sorry, Dr Sandburg. I was coming to find you. I’m afraid I have some bad news about your car, son. It looks like someone’s vandalised it, and the bastards’ve made a pretty good job of it!” 

Eyes widening in shock, Blair’s distress was plain to see. His classic Volvo was the love of his life, despite its many idiosyncrasies, and the thought of someone deliberately damaging it struck him to the core. 

“Oh, man! But why? Who would do such a thing?” he queried plaintively. “I can’t think of anyone I’ve pissed off enough recently to want to get back at me like that. Unless it was vandalism for the sake of it, and my car was in the wrong place at the wrong time!” 

“I can’t help you there, Professor, but I’ll come with you to the parking lot. Just in case they’re still hanging around. I don’t think you should check it out on your own.” 

So saying, he turned and moved to Blair’s side, his bulky presence reassuring even though he could do nothing to alleviate the young man’s distress.  


\------------------------------  


When they arrived in the virtually deserted parking lot, Blair was horrified to see that the damage to the small green Volvo was even worse than he had imagined. Black gloss paint had been tipped over the roof, all the tyres were slashed, the windshield was smashed and a large swastika had been keyed into the paintwork of the hood. It was this last act of desecration that convinced Blair that this was no random event. It wasn’t the first time in his life that he had been targeted for being Jewish, and a bastard to boot. And he was ruefully aware that, should he ever come out as bi, that would be another strike against him. But he had had no reason in recent years here on campus to feel challenged or threatened like this. Sure, he had had occasional altercations, sometimes noisy ones, with students who mistakenly believed they could intimidate him into giving them better grades, but up until now he had always managed to talk them down before things got out of hand. But this was far more worrying. This wasn’t some petty, spiteful act of retaliation. The scale of the damage suggested real hatred and violence towards him personally, and he couldn’t help the cold shiver that skated up his back, the feeling almost as if he had a target painted between his shoulder blades. 

Grateful for Bart’s backup, Blair approached the vehicle slowly, almost reluctant to see the damage close to. But when he peered inside, he saw a roughly-scribbled note thrown onto the driver’s seat through the broken windshield, and even without picking it up, both men could read the scrawled message. _JEW-BOY FAG! YOU’RE NEXT._

Expelling a shaky breath, Blair turned to look at Bart, seeing his own anger and disgust reflected back at him. 

“Guess that makes it personal, then, huh?” he murmured nervously. 

Placing a comforting hand on the smaller man’s shoulder, Bart nodded in sympathetic agreement. “Yeah, I think you’re right Professor. I think it’s time to call in the cops, don’t you? This has all the makings of a hate crime, after all.” 

And Blair knew he was right.  


\---------------------------------------------  


Much later, Blair was back in his apartment, feeling more drained and depressed than he had ever felt before in his life. Dumping his satchel by the door, he dragged himself over to his bed, too tired to even strip off as he virtually fell onto its rumpled and sagging surface and pulled the covers over him. But sleep refused to come, despite his bone-deep exhaustion, his brain apparently determined to keep worrying at the events of the past few hours since the discovery of the trashed Volvo. 

Although Blair knew that under normal circumstances the police were hardly going to be interested in a vandalised vehicle, the fact that there appeared to be a more sinister reason behind it – and, to be honest, Bart’s insistence – convinced Blair that he ought to call it in. However, he had given in to the temptation of calling Joel first, praying that, despite the lateness of the hour, his friend wouldn’t mind giving him some advice as to how he should proceed. And of course, Joel being Joel, good man and good friend that he was, insisted on coming over himself so he could offer as much help as he could to the distraught young man. To be sure, Blair felt incredibly guilty at no doubt having dragged the big detective out of bed, but Joel had reassured him that it was no trouble, especially in the light of the less-than-subtle threat of further mischief. 

With Joel on the scene, directing operations, a forensics team did a quick search of the immediate vicinity, then arranged for the Volvo to be towed to the police garage for further testing. The threatening note was bagged, and both Bart and Blair gave their statements, such as they were, before being told that they could go; Bart returning to complete his night shift, and Blair to make his way home as best he could. 

But there again, Joel had stepped up to the plate, insisting that he take Blair home as he knew that the other alternative was for Blair to catch at least two buses across town in order to reach his apartment. Blair was far too tired and depressed to argue overmuch, so they had set out, at first in contemplative silence as both men considered the possible motivation behind the incident, and the potential consequences. 

No stranger to racist comments and bigotry himself, Joel glanced over at the brooding young man, and decided to break the heavy silence. 

“I’m so sorry, son, that this has happened to you. I know how much you love that old car, and I know for sure such an attack is undeserved. But do you have any ideas about who could have orchestrated this? Because I don’t think it’s just a random incident. Have you crossed swords with anyone particular on campus recently?” 

Sighing gustily, Blair turned wide, wounded eyes on his friend and shook his head. “No, Joel. Really, I have no idea. I mean, as a kid I always had to put up with a certain amount of bullying. Always the youngest, brightest, smallest in the class, etc., etc. And there have always been those who take pleasure in taunting those they think are different, as you well know, man!” he added sadly. “I mean, I'm a long-haired Jewish hippy bastard in some folks’ eyes, and nothing I do will ever change that. Except maybe cutting my hair!” he chuckled wryly. 

“But seriously, I haven’t had much by way of really unpleasant confrontations since I started teaching here. Yeah, I’ve heard plenty of snide insults, mostly behind my back, and I’ve had angry students in my face for various reasons, usually involving poor grades. And there are always the wannabe white supremacist students who boycott my class because I’m Jewish – for which I’m heartily grateful, by the way. 

“But that’s it. I just don’t understand why I should suddenly be singled out like this. As far as I know, I’ve done nothing out of the ordinary recently, either in academic or social circles, other that helping Jim out with the sentinel stuff. 

“I just don’t understand it…” and he tailed off miserably, his pale face reflecting his deep unhappiness. 

Reaching over, Joel squeezed his knee comfortingly, feeling so bad for his sad young friend. Truly, although he was hardly naïve, his years in the force inevitably exposing him to far more evil in word and deed than he cared to admit, Joel simply couldn’t understand why anyone should deliberately hurt such a kind and gentle soul as Blair Sandburg. And he was determined to do his best to get to the bottom of it, even if it meant doing some of the investigating on his own time. 

After dropping Blair off at his building, Joel drove away with the young man’s earnest words of gratitude ringing in his ears. He fully intended to grab a few hours’ sleep, then do a little sleuthing in the morning. All of a sudden, the vaguest hint of a hunch had occurred to him, and he wanted to check it out.  


\-------------------------------  


**Following morning, Rainier campus:**  


A weary and downtrodden Blair plodded dispiritedly across campus on his way from the bus stop to his destination at Hargrove Hall. He was such a far cry from his usual ‘Energiser Bunny’ demeanour that his friends and colleagues wouldn’t have recognised him as the same person if it wasn’t for his habitual unorthodox appearance. But even in this respect he was unusually lacking insofar as his mismatched clothing looked as if he had simply dragged on the first items out of the closet, and he had made a less than satisfactory effort at shaving. Not only that, but his attractive features were bruised and sallow-looking instead of radiating his normal inner glow, while the large blue eyes were dulled by a haunted and bleak expression. The few people about at that early hour who he did encounter appeared noticeably concerned even though he made a valiant effort to greet them amicably enough, but most respected the way that his body language virtually screamed out his tacit request for solitude. 

Pushing open his office door, Blair headed straight for his precious, second-hand coffee machine. He needed caffeine, and lots of it, if he was going to get through today, thankful that at least he only had one class to teach, and that was an Anthro 101. Other than that, he had a faculty meeting to attend, plus office hours, so all he needed to do was keep it together long enough to satisfy his obligations. Feeling unusually sardonic, he thought wryly that it was a good thing that he didn’t have any tutorials today, because for once in his life the thought of trying to maintain a stimulating discussion was completely beyond him. 

Once the coffee was done, he poured himself a large mug, sniffing appreciatively at the fragrant brew as he seated himself at his desk, automatically reaching over to boot up his PC. Sipping needily at the nectar of the gods, he decided to check his emails first. 

And nearly choked on his next mouthful as a new message came up. One marked as High Priority. 

“Oh, gods!” he breathed in shock once the threat of death by coffee had been averted. He scanned the message again, scarcely believing the content, but it hadn’t changed between readings. 

_FAO Dr Jew-boy Sandburg,_ it read. _This is your last warning, Zionist scum. We are sick of your kind infiltrating the ranks of academia, just like you have infiltrated our government and financial systems. You and your kind have undermined our great country, and it’s time for all god-fearing, upstanding Aryan men to take it back. Through your lies and deceit, one of our own has been branded a criminal, gunned down by a fascist pig who has been cleared of blame thanks to your intervention. We will not tolerate this behaviour. Consider last night’s little demonstration a taste of what you will suffer if you refuse to hand in your immediate resignation, and leave this city and this country forthwith._  


_You have been warned._

Reacting on pure instinct, Blair stretched out a shaking hand for the telephone on his desk. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind now that he was the victim of a hate crime, with worse to come, and he needed help.  


\---------------------------------  


**Major Crimes Unit bullpen, same morning:**  


Jim wandered into the bullpen, his thoughts somewhat distracted such that for a moment he failed to notice that Joel was already there, seated at his desk and apparently poring over several thick files. For himself, Jim had decided to come in early because he had had another disturbed night, troubled by heated dreams involving a certain young anthropologist, and he needed to try and centre himself by dint of immersing himself in honest, if boring, paperwork. Truth be told, the last couple of days had been harder than he’d expected, and he had a sinking feeling that he knew very well why. Despite his best efforts, the control dials were barely holding, and the feeling that he was missing a vital element in his life was growing exponentially. But still he refused to give in to his selfish urge to contact Blair, stubbornly believing that it was for the young man’s own good. He had no right to try and tie that bright soul to him, so he intended to hold out for as long as he was capable, loneliness and frustration notwithstanding. 

Shaking himself out of his introspection, he approached Joel’s desk, a somewhat strained grin lighting his handsome features. 

“Hey, Joel, you’re in bright and early! Some interesting new case come up overnight?” 

Offering his friend and colleague a gentle smile, Joel replied sadly, “Good morning Jim. And yes, you could say that. And it’s not something I’m pleased to be involved in either, although I wouldn’t even think of pushing it onto anyone else. I’m afraid it involves a friend of ours, Jim…” and he proceeded to explain exactly what had gone down the previous evening. 

Shocked to the core, Jim’s initial fury was soon tinged with real consternation. “But why did Blair call you first, Joel? I mean, no offence, but I’d have thought that he’d have contacted me?” 

Joel’s face was suffused with sympathetic understanding as he did his best to reply without causing Jim further hurt and bemusement. 

“Think about it, Jim. Once the investigation was over, you turned down his offer to keep helping you, and that must have hurt him badly. Look, Jim. I know Blair, and I know how unselfish and unassuming he is. He always gives of himself 100%, but there’s no way that he’d try and force his attention where it wasn’t wanted, however much it would pain him, so why would he think you’d be interested in his problems? Unless you actually are?” and his kindly face took on an inquisitive look as he awaited Jim’s response. 

Indeed, Jim’s initial thought was to retaliate in anger, the indignant rebuttal ready on his tongue. But a moment later, the honest and honourable man within recognised the truth for what it was. Joel had the right of it after all. Why should Blair believe that Jim would ride to the rescue when he had told the young man in no uncertain terms that he didn’t want the ‘sentinel stuff’ to progress any further? It didn’t matter that Jim had believed it at the time, or thought he did, because undoubtedly in retrospect he could see and accept that it was his own fear responding to the challenge. The belief that he was doing it for the young professor’s good was nothing but an excuse for his own stubborn denial that he actually craved what Sandburg had offered. Friendship, support in his struggle to control and use his newly-awakened senses, and the potential for love, both physical and spiritual, which he, Jim Ellison, was too chickenshit to accept. His expression now one of shame and no little embarrassment, he was about to reply when the phone on Joel’s desk rang, and Jim knew without being told that it was Blair on the line, and his instincts told him that the young man was deeply distressed. 

Listening in unashamedly to the brief conversation, Jim was already reaching for his coat again when Joel glanced up to meet his questioning gaze. Terminating the call with a promise that help was on its way, Joel quickly rose to his feet, tacitly acknowledging Jim’s intention to accompany him as they left the bullpen together, both bound and determined to hurry to the aid of their mutual friend.  


\-----------------------------  


Within a very short time, thanks to Jim’s blatant use of emergency lights and siren, the two detectives arrived at Blair’s door to be greeted by a very pale and jittery young man. 

“Oh, man, thanks for coming so quickly, Joel, Jim. I truly appreciate it. Just hope I’m not over-reacting here.” He addressed them breathlessly, his expression a mix of gratitude, apology and very real fear. 

“It’s just – well, after last night, you know – getting this message was like, way worrying, man. I’m so sorry to have called you like this, but I didn’t know what else to do!” 

Reaching out to squeeze Sandburg’s shoulder comfortingly, Jim grinned tightly down into the anxious, upturned face, his own eyes telegraphing nothing but genuine concern. 

“It’s OK, Chief. Neither of us blames you, and it’s not over-reacting if what Joel tells me about your car is anything to go by. Show us this message, OK, and we’ll take it from there.” 

“He’s right, son,” Joel was quick to agree. “I think we can safely say that this is evidence of a hate crime. Let’s just hope that whoever it is sent the email was dumb enough to leave an IP address we can trace. Not that I think it’s likely, unfortunately.” 

Nodding nervously, Blair pulled up the message again, and both men read it quickly, their faces reflecting a similar combination of anger and disgust. 

“Right, first things first,” Jim said, turning to meet Blair’s wide-eyed gaze, his own tone and expression stern and uncompromising. “You need to come to the station with us, Chief. Do whatever you need to do to cover your classes or whatever you have on your schedule today, and we’ll begin by trying to trace the origin of this piece of trash,” and he nodded towards the computer screen where the email was still displayed. 

“I agree with Joel that I suspect it’ll be a lost cause, unless the perp’s monumentally stupid, but sometimes we can get lucky. But whether we do or not, Chief, you’re going to need protection in the short term at least. I think these bastards mean business, Blair.” 

Seeing Joel nodding soberly in agreement, Blair knew there was no point in arguing, and besides, right now a little protection sounded like a very good thing. Making up his mind quickly, he replied determinedly, “OK, Jim. Give me a few and I’ll get my class covered. One of the TAs should be free, and a lot of them owe me anyway. I’ll have to let the Head of the Department know I can’t make the faculty meeting, which isn’t going to endear me to him, but it can’t be helped. Should I just say I’m ill or something? I mean, perhaps I shouldn’t mention this to him yet? It’s bad enough a staff member’s car getting vandalised on campus under the eyes of Security without this too.” 

Joel nodded thoughtfully and answered first. “I think that would be best, Blair. Let’s keep this as quiet as possible for now so as not to frighten off the bad guys too soon. I have had some thoughts about what might have sparked this attack on you, but I need proof. Jim and I can look into it after you make your statement, OK? Because I’m sure that, owing to the nature of the crime, it’ll be assigned to MCU anyway.”  


\---------------------------------  


**Later, in Simon Banks’ office:**  


His expression grim, Simon surveyed the three men seated before him, studying them each carefully, and not really liking what he saw. Dr Sandburg looked positively haggard; unnaturally still, pale and quiet; his attire suggesting he had been dragged through the proverbial hedge backwards. Seated close beside him, Jim Ellison was plainly exercising rigid control over seething anger, his protective hovering over Sandburg out of all proportion under the circumstances, in Simon’s view, at least. As for Joel, his normally genial and open features reflected profound concern as he cast worried glances at his two companions, particularly when his eyes rested on Sandburg. 

Simon’s problem lay in the nature of the potential ‘crime’ in which his two most senior detectives were presently engaged. It wasn’t that he didn’t sympathise with the young professor’s distress, which was only to be expected, but he needed to be convinced that this was any more than a particularly vicious act of retaliation by a specific individual for some perceived injustice. After all, there was a world of difference between vandalism of property, however serious, and actual violence towards a person, and as far as Simon could see, there was no real evidence for such an escalation in this instance. Hate crimes were invariably unpleasant and messy affairs, and as head of an already overstretched department, he needed to be convinced that this case truly qualified as such, and that his men could justifiably be allowed to concentrate on Sandburg’s predicament over their already heavy caseloads. 

The trouble was, that Simon could already foresee the argument he was going to get from Jim, whose possessive posturing was more appropriate towards a loved one or family member than to a civilian he had met barely days ago, even if said civilian had done him a great service. 

Resting his chin on steepled fingertips, he leaned forward in his seat, encompassing each of them in his stern regard as he began to speak. “OK, gentlemen, from the top. Explain to me exactly what has been going on, and what you intend to do about it, because from where I’m sitting, there’s precious little to justify the stance you’re taking over what may be nothing more than a particularly nasty practical joke. Convince me I should let you continue, OK? Just how much danger do you think Dr Sandburg is in?” 

Even as Jim virtually growled in righteous indignation, it was Blair who spoke up first, and his quiet words surprised them all. Looking almost sheepish, the young man met Simon’s penetrating gaze with shy eyes, a grimace of self-disgust twisting his pale face. 

“I’m so sorry, Captain Banks. And I apologise to Jim and Joel also for causing them so much trouble. I’m afraid I over-reacted when I got that message this morning, on top of the vandalism last night. I admit that at the time I felt truly threatened, but in hindsight I can see the situation from a different perspective, and I’m ashamed to say, I agree with you. I’m still hurt and upset at the depth of hatred expressed in that mail. It’s far worse than anything I’ve been on the receiving end of before, and that’s saying a lot. But when all’s said and done, even I can see that there’s no reason to believe that it’ll automatically escalate to physical violence. Well, I pray that it doesn’t, anyway!” and he essayed a wry, self-conscious chuckle. 

Even as Simon nodded understandingly, his expression already easing to one of relief and satisfaction, Jim erupted in angry denial as Joel looked on in concerned reproach. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Chief! I’ve seen the state of your car, and that’s no random act of wanton vandalism or mean-spirited opportunistic reprisal. It was a calculated act of destruction, meant to hit you where it hurt. You said it yourself. You’re no stranger to bigotry, but this goes beyond name-calling and schoolyard bullying. And the fact that we haven’t been able to trace that email except to an anonymous internet café tells me that the sender means business. It goes beyond the bounds of some muddle-headed bunch of student activists and idealists. And I intend to be there for you when whoever is responsible tries to take things further.” 

Joel pre-empted any angry response Simon was about to make as he spoke up in support of his aggrieved colleague, although his tone and manner were calmer and more placatory. 

“Jim’s right, Blair. Look, son, all of us here know about bigotry and racism, and we’ve all undergone some variation of insulting behaviour, either because of colour, perceived religious beliefs or our chosen profession. But I think you have to take this threat seriously, son, because I think it’s way more than anti-Semitic vitriol. I think there’s a far more sinister hand at work here, and my gut feeling is that it has something to do with your getting involved with Jim. I truly believe that Norman Murcheson is trying to carry out his threat of revenge for the death of his son, and if he can’t proceed any further against Jim, then he’s going to go after an easier target. You. Our problem will be to try and make the connection and get concrete evidence against him. And that won’t be easy!” 

Simon cut in then, his scoffing tone of voice and angry frown reflecting his scorn and incredulity. “Oh, come on, Joel! It’s not like you to be so fanciful! How on Earth did you come up with that theory? Yes, Murcheson is bitterly hurt and angry, and who wouldn’t be in his situation? But I simply cannot believe that a man of his standing would go so far. For sure, he tried to go the legal route by trying to get Jim prosecuted for unjustified killing, but why risk further damage to his own and his remaining family’s reputations by getting involved in intimidation and possible criminal violence? It’s potentially self-destructive, and it’s certainly not logical!” 

It was Jim who responded first to Simon’s heated words, and this time the coldness in his tone and the steely-eyed expression on his chiselled features were more compelling than if he’d erupted in explosive fury again as his listeners might have expected. 

“Who said there was anything logical about this whole situation, sir? Murcheson might be a level-headed and pragmatic businessman under normal circumstances, but who’s to say that the death of his creep of a son hasn’t tipped him over the edge? That kind of grief, especially when he’s in total denial that his kid was anything other than innocent of any wrongdoing, could well be enough to make him go to extreme lengths to get some measure of vengeance. And Joel’s right. He wasn’t able to pin anything on me, so who else is there for him to blame but the person who helped clear my name? And a college professor is a far easier target than a cop.” 

Turning to fix Blair with his stern and uncompromising gaze, Jim directed his next words at the younger man, striving to impress on him the strength of his own conviction. 

“Think about it, Chief. Put yourself in his place. Not only has he just lost his only son, but he’s been told in no uncertain terms that the kid was no good. A spoilt brat turned thief and killer. And unlike Morgan Westbrook Snr, he’s unable to accept it. Unable to believe that it could possibly be true. And when I get dragged in front of a panel of investigators trying to prove that I acted unlawfully, you come along and provide proof of mitigating circumstances. And pretty incredible ones at that. Enhanced senses? Yeah, right! He’s a bitter and disappointed man, Chief, and I think that in his mind, that makes you a legitimate target.” 

Curbing his growing impatience with difficulty, Simon tried his best at reason. “Look, Jim, I do understand how you must feel in the light of what you went through because of Murcheson and his misbegotten son, but don’t you think that your reaction is extreme? I mean, are you acting this way because you feel you owe the kid – sorry, Dr Sandburg, my apologies – a debt because of what he did for you? Or do you think there’s some sort of weird connection between you two because of this ‘Sentinel’ stuff? Surely you can’t believe that! Even Dr Sandburg admits that he over-reacted!” 

Knowing that Jim was liable to explode again, and very likely say something he might later regret, Joel quickly reached out to place a restraining hand on his fellow detective’s forearm as he spoke mildly, but with unmistakable conviction. “Look, Simon, even if you might think it is stretching it to propose that there is some sort of special rapport between Jim and Blair, you have to agree that Jim’s instincts are usually on the nail. And recently he has demonstrated even better intuition than before, which I personally believe is linked to these emerging senses in some way. And I for one am prepared to take his instincts on trust. Those instincts and those senses saved my life, and I’m not about to forget it.” 

Although Blair had yet to say a word in response, apparently overwhelmed and for once much too anxious to be able to arrange his swirling thoughts and emotions into any sort of cohesive and rational order, Simon sighed heavily and admitted defeat. 

“OK, Joel, you win. I’ve never known you to act irrationally, so if you think that there’s something in Jim’s theory, then I’m prepared to let you – to let you both – run with it for 48 hours. But if you don’t turn up something concrete within that time, and nothing else untoward occurs where Dr Sandburg is concerned, then you’re off the case. It’s the best I can do, OK?” 

“So, do what you have to do to protect Dr Sandburg for now, and report back to me as soon as you have anything. Anything at all to go on.” 

Both Jim and Joel weren’t about to wait for their captain to change his mind again, so they rose to their feet with alacrity, and gently ushered a confused and conflicted Blair from the room.  


\-------------------------------  


**Meanwhile, in the Murcheson Mansion:**  


Seated once again in his den, Norman gazed fixedly at the man seated opposite him, his look shrewd and direct as he absorbed everything he had been told. After a protracted pause, during which his visitor had to quell a sudden urge to squirm in discomfort, Murcheson nodded briefly, his narrow-eyed stare and tight smirk betraying his grim satisfaction at what he had learned thus far. Relaxing infinitesimally, the other man allowed himself a brief, business-like smile in response while he waited for his employer’s next instructions. 

Walter Brennan was a Private Investigator who had been employed on and off many times over the years by Murcheson for a variety of reasons ranging from digging up the dirt on potential competitors to spying on Isabelle’s occasional lovers; not because he was in any way jealous, but to ensure her safety and maintain her superficial veneer of respectability at all times. Thus far, Norman had found Brennan’s expertise and confidentiality to be highly satisfactory for the most part. The quiet, non-descript man had a reputation for perseverance and discretion, and wasn’t burdened overmuch with a conscience as long as the rewards were rich, and he had learned from experience that Murcheson would readily pay out a more than generous sum in respect of services successfully rendered. And in this particular instance, it had been an easy mark, for which Brennan was very grateful, since his last assignment had been far less so. 

Some weeks previously Murcheson had hired Brennan to look into the source of suspected leaked information from the MurchPharm laboratories, but despite his best efforts, Brennan had come up empty. Knowing that Murcheson wasn’t the kind of man to take failure lightly, Brennan had believed that it probably marked the end of a long and lucrative relationship, so he was more than grateful when Murcheson contacted him again and charged him with the task of digging up as much information as he could in the shortest time possible on one Dr Blair Sandburg. For a man of his considerable resources, it was a simple task for Brennan to accomplish, and he had reported back to Murcheson within 24 hours. 

And that was when he had learned the reason behind Murcheson’s interest. However, although it might have made the PI uncomfortable at one time, he was long past being concerned about principles as long as he wasn’t expected to actually commit an act of violence in person. He also refrained from deliberately breaking the law, even if he could and did bend and twist it as far as possible when necessary. Serving jail time was most definitely not on his agenda. 

Finally, Norman spoke up, and his words were as balm to Walter’s slightly uneasy soul. 

“You’ve done well, Brennan. So far, everything’s going to plan, at least inasmuch as the steps already taken to intimidate that interfering little Jew-boy have been carried out successfully. But who’d have thought that an impecunious, virtual nobody would have had the guts to ignore the warnings? He probably thinks his acquaintanceship with Ellison and the PD will protect him, but I know better. He might have tenure at Rainier, but it’s very recent, and he has no family to speak of. No connections to stand up for him when the chips are down. 

“And they soon will be down, I promise you! This is what I want you to arrange next in your capacity as liaison between me and that pathetic group of neo-Nazi scum.” 

Offering his employer a small, reassuring smile, Brennan waited with interest as Murcheson outlined his next move.  


\--------------------------------------  


Shortly afterwards, Brennan drove towards a small, scruffy office on the edges of Rainier’s campus, in order to expedite his employer’s latest demands. In truth, even for one as cynical as himself, he felt more than a tad uncomfortable with his instructions, but not enough to prevent him from carrying them out. As he drove, Brennan mulled over various scenarios, mostly concerning his employer and said employer’s state of mind, even as he planned in advance for the unpleasant but necessary confrontation ahead. He knew that Murcheson was an angry and desperate man, and as such, should be treated with due caution. On the other hand, Brennan had never yet seen him lose complete control, no matter what the circumstances, so he was inclined to play it by ear insofar as his own self-preservation was concerned. 

Murcheson had told him up front that Isabelle had retreated to her daughter’s home in Portland, citing her need for female solace from her purported sorrow and devastation at Kenny’s death. And although Brennan personally thought the evil little shit had it coming, and wasn’t in the least surprised to learn that it was probably young Kenny who had stolen the formula from MurchPharm after all, there was no way he’d offer that opinion to the grieving parents. Instead he appreciated the fact that it left Murcheson free to act on his whim, without the encumbrance of his trophy wife, and there was no way he, Brennan, would turn down the likelihood of monetary gain. 

Then again, as he pulled into the small, weed-filled parking lot of Rainier’s branch of the student minority faction, ‘Students for God and Country’, or SGC as they liked to call themselves, he couldn’t quite contain the sneer of distaste that crossed his face as he parked up. He might be happy to receive the substantial payments his employer was prepared to bestow on him, but he didn’t necessarily need to approve of the scum with whom he had to associate in order to get it. This group of ultra-conservative, self-proclaimed ‘patriots’ made no excuse for the fact that their goal was to achieve ‘The Reclamation of our beloved USA on behalf of White, God-fearing Manhood’. However, whereas the majority of them were content to hand out leaflets and spout their bigoted jargon at student Open Days, at rallies and on street corners, there was the inevitable fringe of radical, neo-Nazi thugs who were happy to make a more violent, physical contribution to the cause. And it was to those members that Norman Murcheson was handing out a considerable anonymous donation in order to ensure that they directed their misguided attention towards his chosen prey. Because in their eyes, what more legitimate target could there be than a bastard Jew, who was undoubtedly a faggot to boot if his manner of dress was anything to go by, and who was holding down a teaching position which should be filled by one of their own; a white, Anglo-Saxon protestant. 

Striding into the shabby reception area, Brennan addressed the prim-looking young woman who was seated at the front desk, busily stuffing cheaply printed flyers into envelopes. 

“I’m looking for Eddie Somersby,” he murmured, gracing her with a polite smile. “Is he here today?” 

The young woman pursed her lips, frowning perplexedly as she considered her reply. 

“Yes. Yes, he is,” she finally offered with marked reluctance. “He’s in the back room at the moment, with a few of his ‘friends’. You can go through if you want.” The disapproval on her pretty face was clear, and it was easy to see that, however strongly she might have believed in her own ill-conceived, right-wing opinions, she plainly disliked being associated with the more rabid activists. 

_Too bad,_ thought Brennan sardonically. _She needs to learn that if she wants to sup with the Devil, she’ll need a long spoon. Guilt by association is still guilt. And I should know._

Thanking her, he walked through the connecting door behind her, all business as he prepared to relay his employer’s latest instructions to cruel and eager ears.  


\-------------------------------------  


**Later that afternoon, the loft:**  


A tired and dispirited Blair sank down gratefully into the comfort of one of Jim’s sofas, watching his host as he walked over to the kitchen to snag them both a couple of beers, his movements graceful and unhurried, rather like a large, predatory jungle cat. He felt drained – hollow somehow – as if some of his inner life-force had been sucked from him, but he was sure that it wasn’t just because of the recent threats. But how could he explain the sensation to Jim, when he didn’t even understand it properly himself? Simon was probably right when he said there was some weird connection between them; some ‘Sentinel voodoo shit’, as the big captain had disparagingly called it. It was simply that Blair felt he needed something –some vital component – to make his life complete again, and he was uncomfortably certain that it was something that only Jim could give him. And the Goddess only knew how the big, pragmatic cop would take that little suggestion. 

However, there was no way he was even going to attempt to broach the subject yet. Not until he felt safe again. And hopefully it wouldn’t be too long until he, Jim and Joel could get to the bottom of the current unpleasantness directed at him so he could begin to return to some form of normality. 

For the next day or so, he had allowed himself to be persuaded to stay at Jim’s place, although it went against the grain for the independent young man. But Jim had been adamant in his demands, assuring him that he would feel much better with Blair under his own roof, so with no little reluctance, Blair had given in. Being close to Jim was, after all, where Blair had realised that he most wanted to be, but at the same time he was uncomfortable with being on the receiving end of what he thought of as some form of charity. But as Jim returned with a bottle of beer and a friendly smile for him, he decided to put all disturbing thoughts aside for now, and just enjoy a few minutes’ simple companionship with the man of his dreams.  


\----------------------------  


As far as Jim was concerned, he was equally perturbed by his own emotions as regards his new temporary houseguest, and principal amongst them was the conviction that he wanted the arrangement to become permanent. He had never before experienced such possessive and protective urges towards any other person, even in a life dedicated to the service of others, and the strength of those urges was profoundly unsettling. But it was there, and growing, and not to be denied. 

Then again, he knew that he had to control his undoubtedly selfish urge to push Blair too hard while he was still so vulnerable. Taking advantage of the young man’s disturbed state would be monumentally unfair, and might indeed backfire on him somewhere down the line. No, better to play it cool for the time being and simply be there to offer support and comfort where it was needed. There would be time to woo his – Guide? Partner? Lover? All of the above? – once the threat to him had been removed once and for all. 

As he opened the fridge to retrieve the promised beers, he couldn’t help but recall the state of Sandburg’s present lodgings, which was undeniably a contributory factor in Jim’s need to keep him close. When they had left the PD; Blair having finally bowed to Jim’s vehement and persuasive argument that he stay at the loft at least until the 48 hours’ investigation time they had been granted was over; he had asked if Jim could swing by his apartment building so that he could grab a few basic necessities. Jim had agreed, but had secretly been horrified when Blair directed him to the run-down district in which he lived. The scruffy building was originally a decent, three-storey family dwelling in what had once been a respectable neighbourhood, but which had been converted into three small apartments when the area began to decline. The landlord had clearly spent no more than absolutely necessary to make the apartments habitable, and time plus the inevitable turnover of temporary residents meant that the interiors were ‘tired’, to say the least. Blair’s top floor rooms were damp and cold, even though he had tried to make them more cheerful by pinning colourful posters over the worst stained areas of wallpaper, and draping ethnic throws over the ratty, thrift shop furniture. However, Jim hadn’t had more than a couple of minutes in which to study the place, as Blair had simply reached into his closet and withdrawn a ready-packed duffel. Offering Jim a quick, if slightly melancholy grin, he had said, “OK, Jim. I’m ready. I have everything I need in here, and my laptop’s in my satchel, so I’m good to go.” 

Once back in Jim’s truck, Jim couldn’t help but question Blair about the duffel, needing to satisfy his curiosity. Casting a quizzical glance over at his quiet passenger, he had said, “Hey, Chief, I don’t want to poke my nose in where it’s not wanted, but can I ask what’s the deal with the duffel? I mean, do you always have one packed so conveniently?” 

Luckily for him, Blair didn’t seem to be offended by his question, and had smiled gently in response, his eyes taking on a slightly unfocussed look as he seemed to reminisce. “It’s OK, Jim, I don’t mind. See, it goes back to my childhood, when I spent years following my mom Naomi around from place to place. She’s quite the hippy wanderer, is Naomi, and I never knew where we’d end up next. We never had much because we travelled light, you understand? But sometimes we’d end up in a place which wasn’t so good, and might have to de-camp without warning, you know? So we always kept a fully-packed ‘escape bag’, just in case. And I guess I never got out of the habit!” He had chuckled softly in self-deprecation, not seeing the fleeting look of distress that crossed his companion’s face as Jim imagined the child Blair in frightening and perhaps dangerous situations. What kind of parent would contemplate dragging a small child around the world like that? But he had the sense not to question Blair further in case his concern and disapproval upset him. After all, most kids thought the world of their parents, and perhaps as far as Blair was concerned, his lifestyle was completely acceptable. In any case, Jim had consoled himself with the thought that, if their relationship developed as he hoped, he would have time enough to learn more about his fascinating new friend. 

Thoughts returning to the present, he grabbed the cold beers, and fixing a friendly smile on his face, he popped the tops and crossed over to offer one to his drooping guest. “There you go, Chief. Get that down you. Then I’m thinking we could order in, because I don’t feel like cooking tonight. Thai suit you?” 

“Yeah, that would be great, Jim, but I should get it, shouldn’t I? I mean, it’s only fair when you’re putting me up like this.” 

“Don’t sweat it, Chief. You can get the next one if you want, but it’s no trouble, I promise you. I wouldn’t have invited you to stay if I didn’t mean it, despite my previous attitude. Let’s just say I’ve had my eyes opened a bit, and leave it at that for now, OK?” 

And a very relieved Blair had nodded his assent as he murmured gratefully, “Thanks, man. I know we’ve a lot to talk about, but right now I’m beat. I don’t understand why I’m so out of sorts. I mean, for the goddess’ sake, as a student, and later as a TA I thought nothing of pulling multiple all-nighters, and I’m not that much older now! Sheesh, it’s pitiful,” he added with a wry grin. 

“It’s not so strange, Chief,” Jim replied seriously, his eyes reflecting understanding. “You’ve had several shocks on top of a bunch of unexpected revelations, so it’s not surprising that you’re feeling so troubled. And my stubbornness hasn’t helped either, so cut yourself some slack. 

“But I’m thinking that a hot shower while I order the food should go a long way to making you feel better, am I right?” And he was more than gratified when Blair rose to his feet, eager to take him up on his offer.  


\--------------------------  


**Following morning:**  


It was a silent pair who sat in in Jim’s truck the following morning on the drive to Rainier campus, but this time the silence was rather less than companionable. Casting an occasional, nervous glance over at Jim; who was driving with determined concentration even as the muscles of his jaw jumped and twitched from the stress of the man’s clenched teeth; Blair felt both guilty for causing his host’s anger, and also aggrieved that his own stance should have been treated with such incredulity and disdain. 

The trouble had arisen the previous evening, after they had enjoyed a blessedly relaxing and convivial dinner together. Once the clean-up had been done, and both men were preparing for an early night, Blair had casually asked if Jim would mind dropping him off at Rainier on the way to the PD, since he had no alternative transport other than the public variety. Grinning ruefully, he had bemoaned the loss of his Volvo, and had added that he could take a bus across town if it was inconvenient for Jim, only to tail off in consternation when he noticed the effect his words had had on the big cop. 

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re talking about, Sandburg?” had been Jim’s immediate, uncompromising response. “Why on Earth do you think I’d let you return to Rainier unprotected? Are you completely _insane?”_

And Blair had lost it. Furious at being addressed as if he was a mindless idiot, or a child unable to think for himself, he had gotten up in Jim’s face, telling him in no uncertain terms that he had a job to do, and classes to teach, and he was well able to take care of himself in the campus environment during daylight hours. 

They had argued back and forth for some minutes, but Blair had refused to back down, his sense of responsibility towards his students uppermost in his mind. Finally, Jim had given in, but with very ill grace. 

“OK! OK, Sandburg, if that’s the way you want it, I’ll take you. But you’ll stay in company at all times, and you _will_ wait for me to come and pick you up once your classes are done, you hear me? Unless you can promise me that, I’ll cuff you to the bedpost!” 

And how weird was that that the angry threat had actually sent a frisson of excitement through Blair, which made him madder than ever, but this time at himself. 

So here they were, still barely on speaking terms, but at least driving in the right direction. And Blair had offered a compromise insofar as he promised Jim that he would postpone the day’s tutorials and office hours, and only do the morning lecture that couldn’t be avoided. The offer had appeased Jim to some extent, although it was pretty obvious that he was still pissed off at his stubborn ‘protectee’. 

Arriving at Hargrove Hall, Jim parked the truck and climbed down, clearly intent on delivering his charge safely to the door of his own office. Although still a little indignant, Blair couldn’t help but feel quite moved at Jim’s overt care for his safety. He couldn’t recall anyone, even Naomi, demonstrating such a protective instinct, and he couldn’t deny that it warmed him. 

Entering the large, imposing and recently renovated building, Jim was somewhat surprised when he was led upwards and back towards the far reaches of the older wing along what seemed like miles of staircases and winding corridors. Noting his companion’s quizzical and somewhat pained expression, Blair couldn’t help but chuckle self-deprecatingly as he explained. 

“Sorry about this, man, but I’m still very low on the academic totem pole, so I don’t qualify for one of the nicer offices up front in the new wing. I have to put up with what they can give me, which at present is at about the outermost limit of the Anthro department. But it could be worse, man! When I was a humble grad student, I had to share space with artefacts in a basement storeroom. At least this office has natural light, even if the window overlooks the dumpsters parked out back!” 

Jim couldn’t help but grin in response, unable to stay mad at the irrepressible young man any longer, but the smile fled from his face as they turned the final corner and Blair stopped dead in his tracks. The scene in front of what was plainly Blair’s office was one of controlled mayhem, and for good reason. Several people, including two in the uniforms of campus security, were arguing heatedly as they contemplated the messy graffiti daubed on the door and the adjacent walls. Using bright yellow paint, someone had sprayed a large Star of David overlaid by an even bigger swastika on the actual door, and added the words ‘Death to the Jew-boy Fag’ in an untidy, angry scrawl underneath. 

As Blair stood aghast, shocked into immobility, one of the figures, a young woman, detached herself from the group and ran towards him, her pretty face streaked with tears as she threw her arms around him. “Oh, Blair, I’m so sorry! I came up early to put the papers you wanted on your desk and I found it like this! I don’t know who could have done it! It’s so cruel!” and she began to cry again as she hugged him hard. 

After a moment, she pulled herself together somewhat, and as Blair gently put her away from him, he was moved to offer her a little comfort, putting aside his own upset in the face of her very real concern for him. “It’s OK, Patti. I’m OK. But do you know if…if it’s um…OK inside?” he enquired nervously, unable to keep the real anxiety from his tone. 

Belatedly acknowledging Jim, who was frowning angrily as he surveyed the scene even as he placed a reassuring hand on Blair’s shoulder, she introduced herself quickly before answering. “Um, hi? I’m Patti, Blair’s student helper. I got here about half an hour ago, and saw this…this _monstrosity!_ But whoever did it didn’t get inside, Blair, I’m sure, because the door was still locked, and I didn’t dare open it in case it disturbed the scene? So I called security, and they arrived a few minutes ago. I’m so sorry, Blair. You don’t deserve this!” 

Squeezing Blair’s shoulder comfortingly, Jim left the two together and approached the two security guards, intent on finding out as much as he could, his anger rigidly controlled as losing it wouldn’t serve any good purpose. Ignoring the others present, he introduced himself to the woman who was apparently in charge. “I’m Detective Ellison, Cascade PD Major Crimes Unit and Dr Sandburg’s friend. What’s going on here? What do you know?” 

“Susan Tomaki, Detective, Head of Campus Security,” the young woman replied briskly, in all probability more than a little relieved to have a real cop so conveniently at hand. “As far as I can tell, this must have been done in the early hours of the morning, during the shift change. The night guard, Bart Jenkins, reported that all was well when he handed over to Mark here, so this must have been done before Mark completed his first rounds. I’m sorry to say that budget cuts mean we have far too few personnel to do the job properly, Detective. We don’t even have enough CCTV coverage in the older parts of the building, so whoever did this took advantage of a pretty big window of opportunity. The good thing is that nothing has been disturbed inside the office, so all Dr Sandburg’s personal effects are safe.” 

“Thank the goddess for that,” Blair sighed in profound relief, having moved up to join them. “Most of my books and papers are in there, along with many of my personal belongings and the artefacts I’ve collected over the years. And although I always back up my work, I’d have a real job on my hands setting everything up again if my PC was crashed. But I still don’t really know what I’ve done to deserve this!” he added despairingly, and Jim’s heart broke at the devastation on his young friend’s face. 

They were distracted by the quiet voice of Patti, who had moved up to join them, her face betraying her nervousness as she offered her opinion. 

“Do you think it could be the SGC, Blair? I mean, they’ve never done anything this horrible before, but maybe they’re getting more radical? I’ve heard it said on the grapevine that there are some new recruits who are much more brash and outspoken about their beliefs.” 

Jim was interested to note that Blair didn’t shoot down the young woman’s theory in flames, although he himself couldn’t help but comment rather wryly, “SGC, Chief? Who’re they when they’re at home? Sounds like something out of that TV sci-fi series!” 

Managing a pained chuckle, even though the expression in his eyes remained wide and wounded-looking, Blair replied, “Yeah, I know, Jim, but they’re anything but that. I mean, in their case, ‘SGC’ stands for ‘Students for God and Country’, so you can guess what their politics are--” 

“Stuff and nonsense Dr Sandburg! We don’t condone such behaviour amongst the Rainier student population! There has to be another explanation!” 

The haughty, self-important voice cut across their conversation, and all turned to view the newcomer, Jim ready to shoot _him_ down in flames if necessary. However, seeing Blair’s reaction, he controlled himself, needing to understand just what was going on. 

“Um, Dean Wilson! I’m sorry, sir. I hadn’t realised you were here.” Blair’s words and tone were apologetic, even abashed, and Jim realised that this unpleasant character must have a fair amount of clout to elicit such a meek response from his feisty friend. The man was middle-aged, of middling stature, and primly dressed to a degree, even down to the neat bowtie. Obviously self-important and accustomed to being heard and obeyed, the annoying little man addressed Jim directly. 

“Dean Wilson, Detective Ellison. Head of Anthropology. And in view of your apparent relationship with Blair, I must ask you both to accompany me to my office. We need to discuss this further outrage, and a _bone fide_ police presence would be much appreciated.” 

Jim would have loved to take the pompous little man down a peg or two, but seeing Blair’s uncharacteristic servility, he declined to argue, merely nodding briskly in assent. 

“Certainly, Dean Wilson,” he muttered stiffly, taking Blair’s arm in a proprietary fashion, uncaring for the moment whether the younger man would resent it or not. No way was he leaving Blair to face this windbag alone if Jim could help it, as it was blatantly obvious to Jim the friend, even as it was to Jim the Sentinel, that nothing pleasant was going to come of this.  


\-------------------------------  


Once all three were seated in Dean Wilson’s large and extremely well-appointed office, the arrogant academic administrator immediately cut to the chase. 

“I’m very sorry you have been targeted and slandered in this vulgar fashion, Dr Sandburg, and I assure you I cannot and will not condone such a slight against a member of staff. I can also assure you that we will do everything necessary to sort out this unpleasant mess. However, in view of the attack on your vehicle also, and the possibility of more such incidents, I have to consider what the repercussions of these occurrences being made public could have on Rainier’s reputation. 

“It hasn’t escaped our notice that these vicious slurs on your character and the inexcusable damage both to your possessions and university property only began after you chose to offer your services to the PD during that unfortunate episode involving young Kenny Murcheson and Morgan Westbrook. It is very obvious that someone has an axe to grind as far as you’re concerned, my boy, and I believe that it would be best if you absented yourself from campus until the culprit is apprehended. I have spoken to Chancellor Edwards, and she is of the same mind. 

“I’m sorry, Blair, my boy, but I must ask you to comply with our wishes. We are thinking of your own safety also.” 

To say that Blair was totally devastated would be an understatement, and even the Dean had the decency to try and alleviate his palpable distress a little. 

“Don’t take on so, son,” he muttered, plainly uncomfortable. “Think of it as a paid vacation. Your classes have already been covered, so you need not worry. Just collect what you need from your office, and relax at home for a while.” 

As Blair could do nothing but stare aghast at his department Head, rendered temporarily speechless in hurt and disbelief, it was Jim who growled out a coldly furious reply on his behalf. 

“So that’s it is it? That’s your idea of care and support for a valued member of your staff? After all Dr Sandburg has done for you, all the years of dedicated effort and long hours of teaching and studying, you can just send him down like this? As if it is he who is the guilty party? I don’t believe this! What kind of school is this?” 

Stiffening in affront, Dean Wilson drew himself up, no longer even trying to maintain his assumed sympathetic and understanding demeanour. His tone was equally cold as he hissed, “I suggest you modify your tone, Detective Ellison. After all, it was you who asked Dr Sandburg for his help, was it not? So don’t try to lay all the blame on this university, or our decisions made in the light of this mess. Do your job and find the culprit, and then we will reconsider the situation. 

“Good day, Blair, Detective Ellison!” 

And really there was nothing more to be said, in view of Blair’s still shocked and stupefied state, so Jim simply gathered him up with a supportive arm around the slender waist, and headed for the door, but not without sending Wilson a ferocious glare. Which in turn earned him a small amount of grim, if petty, satisfaction as the other man visibly flinched in an unintentional fear response before deliberately assuming his self-important air once again.   


\----------------------------------  


As the pair headed back towards Blair’s office, with the younger man still wrapped in introverted silence, Jim’s thoughts raced as he considered the situation and what to do for the best. Eventually, as they neared the now sealed off section of the corridor, he stopped and turned Blair gently around to face him. 

“You with me, Chief?” he queried gently. “I need you to listen to me, OK?” 

Receiving an unhappy nod, he couldn’t quite prevent himself from raising his hand to cup Blair’s cheek and gently stroke the soft skin beneath a sad and bruised-looking blue eye with his thumb. The compassionate gesture caused Blair’s eyes to fill with unshed tears, but also brought him back to the present. 

“I…I’m OK, Jim. Honest. This just took me by surprise, is all. I mean, Chancellor Edwards has never liked me, so I can understand why she’d be happy to see the back of me, even if only temporarily, but I thought that Wilson would have been more supportive. I worked like a dog for him when I was his TA, and I’ve been taking extra classes for him ever since I got tenure, but he obviously feels as if he doesn’t owe me anything!” and the disillusion in his expression was painful for Jim to behold. 

“I’m sorry, Blair. It’s not right, but it is what it is. Look, I know Tomaki will have called it in to the station already, but I’m just going to give Simon a heads-up about this situation. There’s no doubt now that you’re the victim of a hate crime, so he’s going to have to assign me, and probably Joel also, to follow this up officially. Hate crimes are considered to be within Major Crimes’ purview, and often warrant even federal intervention if they spread to multiple victims. Although I doubt there’ll be much evidence to gather, we’ll have to wait for the forensics guys to finish checking out the area before you’ll be allowed into your office, so I suggest that we go back to the PD and get things rolling, OK?” 

“Yeah, man, OK. I guess everything’ll be safe enough for now anyway, and Patti will keep an eye on things for me. She’s a great kid.” 

Nodding in understanding and relief that the younger man wasn’t about to be stubborn over Jim’s suggested course of action, Jim wrapped a supportive arm around Blair’s shoulders, and they turned as one to head out of the building and back to the PD.  


\------------------------------  


**Shortly after, in Simon Banks’ office:**  


Simon was undeniably concerned as he beheld the young man seated opposite him, Jim Ellison hovering protectively over the hunched figure. True, Sandburg was better attired than the last time Banks had seen him, but otherwise, he looked far, far worse. And Simon couldn’t help but feel genuine sympathy and a certain amount of that protective impulse himself, because after all, he was a father, and right now he felt almost as great a need to bundle up the small, vulnerable-seeming body and take him home as he would for his beloved son Daryl. 

As soon as Jim had carefully ushered Dr Sandburg into the bullpen, Simon, with a sinking feeling of dismay, had instantly known that something else had occurred, and that he couldn’t procrastinate any longer. And he had been so right. As everything had been explained to him, he realised that the undeserving young man had been kicked in the teeth yet again, and there was no excuse now for delaying further action on his behalf. It made no difference what Simon’s own feelings were towards the bouncy and irritating academic. This was a young man being penalised for his willingness to help one of Simon’s own, and he deserved their protection. 

“Jim, Dr Sandburg, I’m truly sorry to hear of this latest development. In my defence, as the captain of a cash-strapped and overworked department, I really hoped that Jim was over-reacting, but now there’s no question that you are the victim of at least one person’s vicious vendetta, and if Joel’s theory turns out to have substance, there could be far wider implications. 

“So, if it’s OK with you, I’d like for you to go home to Jim’s place. Allow yourself a little time to relax and re-group in a safe environment, and in the meantime, Joel and Jim can continue the investigation. I agree with Joel’s assessment that the connections will be hard to establish, but I have faith in their determination and ability. If there is anything to be discovered, they will discover it--” 

Unfortunately, at that point he was interrupted by Joel himself, who barged into the office without any of his usual restraint and courtesy. 

“Sorry, Simon,” he gasped breathlessly in instinctive apology. “I thought you’d be here, Blair, Jim.” 

As all three gazed up at him in various degrees of astonishment, curiosity and trepidation, the big man moved around to face Blair, his broad, pleasant features marred by pain, sympathy and anger. 

“Blair, son. I truly hate to be the bearer of more bad tidings, and God knows, I hate to have to tell you this on top of everything else you’ve suffered. But it has to be done. 

“I just received a call from a friend of mine in the Fire Department. It’s your building, Blair. They were alerted by an anonymous caller two hours ago, but by that time it was too late. The place is gutted, son. No casualties, but there’s nothing left. Although the forensic investigators will be called in to make it official, it’s pretty much a done deal, Blair. It was arson. No question.” 

If either Simon or Jim believed that Blair couldn’t possibly get any paler, they’d have been wrong. It seemed as if every last bit of colour was leached from his stricken face, and his eyes grew impossibly wide as Joel’s words impacted on him. Jim’s enhanced hearing easily picked up the thundering of the young man’s heart, while increasingly struggling breaths heralded an almighty panic attack. He was therefore already moving to take the crumpling body into his arms as Blair slid off his seat towards the floor, pulling the smaller man into his lap as he murmured urgently, “Easy, Chief. Come on now, breathe, babe, breathe!” And if anyone present picked up on the small endearment, he couldn’t have cared less. 

But his efforts were to no avail. Blair simply couldn’t help himself. It was too much. Everything up until now had been bad; hurtful and scary to be sure; but even if his place had been little more than a dump, it was a dump which had held many of his scanty, and most treasured, possessions. Granted, the majority of his most rare and beloved books, papers and artefacts were in his office, at least safe for the present, but his few precious photographs and personal mementoes, plus his clothes, his guitar and his music collection were now gone for good. 

And it was too much. Even as he raised his eyes to meet Jim’s in mute apology, the sparkles at the periphery of his vision grew brighter, and he succumbed willingly to the beckoning comfort of darkness and unconsciousness. 

When Blair came back to himself, he had no inkling as to how long he’d been out of it, although in fact it had only been a few minutes. He became aware of several things quite quickly, though, and with that realisation came a burst of shame and embarrassment. He was lying on the couch in Simon Banks’ office, and the gentle hand patting his cheek and voice encouraging him to wake belonged to Jim. A very worried-looking Jim, who had an equally worried-looking Joel at his shoulder. And Blair wished with all his heart that the ground would open up and swallow him to save him from having to face up to the three big, macho cops who had just witnessed his pathetic meltdown. 

Unfortunately, the ground wasn’t about to oblige him, so he knew he’d have to suck it up and try to make the best of it that he could. Smiling tentatively up at Jim, he murmured nervously, “Oh, man! I’m so sorry, Jim, Captain Banks. And Joel, man. Um…I haven’t had one like that for years. Er…Goddess! This is so embarrassing!” and he began to push himself upright, blushing from neck to hairline in mortification. 

However, Jim was quick to reach for him. “Hold on there, Chief. Not so fast. Let me help you. That was a pretty bad attack you had there. Don’t rush into sitting up, OK?” 

Blair fully intended to alleviate Jim’s concern with a reassuring word and a grin, but even as he opened his mouth to do just that, the room swooped and swayed sickeningly and he flopped back against the cushions again. 

“Whoa,” he whispered after a minute or two, his eyes tightly closed as he fought off the surge of nausea the movement had triggered. “Major head-rush there. But I’ll be OK soon, honestly. Just give me a moment more.” 

“Take all the time you need, Dr Sandburg. You’ve had one hell of a shock on top of everything else. Just rest up a while until you feel better.” Simon’s deep voice rumbled from somewhere in the vicinity of Blair’s feet, and he cracked an eye open to see the big man gazing down at him from the end of the couch, his dark features for once betraying sympathy rather than his customary impatience. 

“Thank you, Captain Banks. I appreciate your concern, truly. And from all of you. But I think I’m OK to move now, Jim, if you don’t mind giving me a hand?” and he glanced shyly up from beneath long lashes, unconsciously causing Jim’s heart to stutter in delighted reaction to the attractive and appealing sight, while his loins heated in instant lust. 

Desperately stamping down on his unruly and inappropriate responses, Jim forced a smile as he replied, “No problem, Chief. Here you go. Easy does it!” and he slid his arm beneath Blair’s shoulders, easing the smaller man slowly upwards until he was sitting fully upright. He was relieved to see a touch more colour in the young man’s still pale face, and sentinel hearing noted that Sandburg’s heart rate had returned to normal even if his scent still bore the taint of distress. 

As he automatically monitored Sandburg’s physical functions, he couldn’t help but consider yet again how amazingly well all his senses cooperated when the young man was close by, and although he was sincerely upset on Blair’s behalf over the loss of his home, now might be a very good time to prepare his arguments for encouraging Blair to stay with him permanently at the loft. Then again, he realised that to pressure the young man immediately would be unforgivably crass while he was so vulnerable. No way would he take advantage of Blair like that, so he would bide his time. But given the right opportunity, he was sure he could convince his guide – yes, _his Guide_ – that he had a home and a place for life at Jim’s side. 

It was Joel who broke into Jim’s brief ruminations when he spoke gently but persuasively, his eyes full of compassion as he regarded Blair. 

“Blair, son. I’m sorry to push you when you’ve just had such a shock, but for your sake I’d like to get on as quickly as I can with following the few leads I have on the possible perpetrators, and for that I need as much information as you can give me on any student bodies that might have it in for you. Can you do that for me?” 

Meeting Joel’s caring and steadfast gaze, Blair didn’t have to think before replying. “It’s OK, Joel. I’ll tell you everything I can. I mean, if I can be targeted like this, then so can some other undeserving victim, so I want to help. But honestly, Joel, like I told Jim, the only students I know of who are in any way suspect are Rainier’s branch of the so-called ‘SGC’, or ‘Students for God and Country.’ And really they’re pretty harmless. Lots of nasty literature and prone to some pretty unpleasant diatribes against gays, coloureds, Muslims, Jews – you know, the usual minority target groups – but they don’t tend to get physical. They’re too cowardly for that.” 

However, even as Joel nodded in grim acceptance, Jim butted in quickly. “Hang on a minute, Chief. I know what you told me about those bozos, but didn’t your student helper – Patti, wasn’t it? – say that she thought there were some new, more radical recruits in that group? Perhaps they’ve decided to ramp up their sick campaigning to a new level of actual violence. It only takes the right incentive to get them started.” 

Blair glanced over at him briefly before looking away again to stare off into the distance for a moment, a troubled frown on his face as he tried to get to grips with Jim’s suggestion. As a gentle and peace-loving soul, it truly pained him to think that there were students on campus who were so misguided, but then again, he knew to his cost that it took all sorts, and not every young person was at college for necessarily the right reason. The Murcheson and Westbrook boys were ample proof of that. Sighing heavily, he turned back to face the others, a weary and resigned expression dragging down his attractive features as he replied. “You’re probably right, Jim. I don’t want to believe it, but perhaps the stuff Patti’s been hearing about is more than just rumour. But it won’t be easy identifying the individuals concerned, will it?” 

“Maybe not, Chief, but you can be sure we’ll be giving it our best shot,” Jim replied firmly as both Joel and Simon nodded in agreement. “But right now I’m thinking we should get you back to the loft. You need a bit of time to yourself to get your act together again. Sound good to you?” 

And Blair smiled sadly in response as he rose shakily to his feet, Jim supporting him for a moment as he found his balance. 

“Thanks, Jim. Yeah, sounds good, man. But I’ll try not to impose on you for long, man. Give me a week to find somewhere and I’ll be out of your hair….”  


\--------------------------------------  


**Part 3: Resolution:**  


As he unlocked the door to #307, standing back to let his silent companion precede him into its pristine, if Spartan interior, Jim couldn’t help but frown worriedly at Blair’s lowered head and slumped shoulders as he shuffled over to the nearest sofa. On the short drive from the PD, Blair had done his best to assume an up-beat façade, but even with his considerable acting skills, he had been unable to maintain it for long. And who could blame him? Jim certainly didn’t. Hell, the kid had had more thrown at him over the past week than anyone should have to bear, starting with Jim’s refusal to accept Blair’s offer of continuing help. No matter that he thought he was doing the right thing at the time; he had hurt the young man, and hurt him badly, and the pain had just kept coming. Locking the door behind him, Jim determined that he was going to try and do the best he could to alleviate Blair’s distress, and he was going to start right now. 

Squaring his shoulders as if he was about to go into action, he marched purposefully over to where Blair was sitting, and dropped down to a crouch in front of the smaller man, who raised his head to peer quizzically into Jim’s worried but sympathetic gaze. 

“Uh, is there something wrong, Jim? Can I do something for you?” he queried anxiously, willing to push aside his own woes if the bigger man needed his help. 

“No, Chief, but I think I can do something for _you,”_ came the gentle reply. “You look like you could do with a hug, kiddo, and I’d be happy to oblige,” and Jim held out his arms in invitation, hoping he wasn’t making a complete ass of himself. 

Blair’s expression softened to one of shy pleasure as he inched forward in his seat. “If you’re offering, Jim, then I’m certainly accepting. A hug sounds great right now.” 

And taking him at his word, Jim stretched out and encircled the slender but sturdy figure in his powerful arms, gratified to feel Blair’s hands reach around to press warmly against his back even as he snuggled his face into the crook of Jim’s neck and shoulder. They stayed like that for several minutes, giving and taking comfort from each other, and Jim could literally feel the tension gradually drain from the warm body in his arms as Blair relaxed into his embrace. 

Unfortunately, the peaceful and healing moment was broken only too soon as the real world intruded again with the shrill ringing of the cordless phone on the coffee table beside them. For a moment, Jim was tempted to ignore it, but a quick glance at the caller ID made him frown in consternation as he gently but reluctantly put Blair away from him. 

“It’s my Dad,” he murmured in answer to Blair’s tacit query. “Sorry, Chief, but I’d better take it.” 

Not knowing Jim well enough yet to have learned of the strained dynamic between father and son, he simply smiled and nodded in understanding as Jim reached for the offending instrument. 

“Uh, hi Dad. Um, what can I do for you?” 

Blair was perplexed by the unfamiliar reticence and unease in Jim’s voice and posture, and so, realising that this could be a difficult conversation in the making, he mimed taking himself off to the small room under the stairs to give Jim some privacy. 

However, even as he listened to what his father was saying, Jim shook his head. There wasn’t anything he intended to say to his father that Blair couldn’t hear. 

“Actually, son, it’s something I think I can do for you,” William replied. “I know we haven’t seen eye to eye for a long time, Jimmy, and I realise that it’s mostly my fault. But whatever you may think, I love you, son. You and Stevie both. And I’ve always made a point of following your progress, Jimmy.” Hearing Jim’s quiet snort of disbelief, he hurried on. 

“I know it must be difficult to believe, son, but it’s the truth. I’m proud of your progress, both in the army and now in the police department. I wasn’t the best father to either of you, but I did the best I could at the time. I know now that I shouldn’t have tried to force you to control your strange ability as a child, but I was scared that you’d be seen as a freak, and might be taken away from me. You never met my cousin Marlon, but he had the same symptoms, and he ended up in an asylum. It was undoubtedly the wrong thing to do, but that’s how such behaviour was treated in those days, and I was afraid that it might happen to you. And you seemed to suppress your hypersensitivity in time, so I hoped that the threat was gone for good. 

“But my friend Chief Warren told me about your run-in with IA after shooting the Murcheson boy, and I realised that your ability was back.” 

“That’s all well and good, Dad,” Jim replied somewhat impatiently. “But although I appreciate what you’ve said so far, what makes you think you can help me? And in what way?” 

“I’m getting to that, Jimmy!” William responded, sounding more like the stern father-figure of Jim’s childhood memories. But he modified his tone almost immediately as he continued, not wanting Jim to hang up on him in anger. 

“Look, Jimmy, I don’t want to argue. Just hear me out, OK? As I said, I gather that your senses have re-emerged, but this time you have found someone who can help you. Someone who understands these things, am I right? But now I hear that that person, that young professor from Rainier, is being targeted because of it. If he’s helping you, son, then I shall do everything I can to help you both. And if you’re prepared to listen, I’ll start by telling you everything I know about Norman Murcheson.” 

His interest definitely piqued by now, Jim murmured his assent, trying to absorb his father’s information even as he tried to come to terms with the older man’s changed attitude towards him. This certainly wasn’t the man he recalled, but for Blair’s sake, he was going to listen. 

“OK, then, Jimmy,” William began, plainly relieved at Jim’s acquiescence, however grudgingly given. 

“I’ve known Norman Murcheson for years now - admittedly as an acquaintance rather than a friend - through the commercial and social circles I frequent. He has a reputation for ruthlessness in business terms, and has made MurchPharm Inc. into one of Cascade’s most successful companies. He’s certainly a canny and hard-working businessman, but I understand that he’s not above bending the rules if he can. Not that the rest of us are as pure as the driven snow, you understand, but he has been known to employ a particularly obnoxious, if remarkably proficient Private Investigator to gather clandestine personal and corporate information for him to use to his own advantage. Or to the advantage of his family. 

“The Investigator’s name is Brennan. Walter Brennan. And if Norman is going after your new friend in revenge for the death of that no-good son of his, I can pretty much guarantee he’ll be using Brennan to help him, probably even as a go-between.” 

Although he couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, Blair watched in fascination as Jim’s expression changed from impatience, to puzzlement and finally to an almost predatory grin of triumphant satisfaction. 

“Thanks, Dad. I think you might well have provided the link we were looking for. I appreciate it, truly. Look, I need to let Joel and Simon know so we can get onto this as soon as, but I’ll call you back to let you know how we get on, OK?” 

And it wasn’t hard for him to hear the note of pleased satisfaction in his father’s voice as they said their goodbyes and terminated the call. 

Placing the handset back on the table, a now widely-grinning Jim reached out again and pulled Blair into another bear hug, this time chuckling in unholy glee. “I think we’ve got our first proper lead, Chief!” he chortled. “I’ll give you a quick run-down, then I’m calling Joel. This is something he’ll want to use as soon as possible.”  


\-------------------------------  


As it turned out, William’s information did indeed prove to be the key to a new line of investigation, and things moved quickly from then on. Early the next morning, armed with a mug shot of Walter Brennan, Joel, Jim and Blair – who insisted that he wanted to accompany them – arrived at the run-down office of the SGC group. As luck would have it, they confronted the same receptionist who had greeted the PI on his last visit. The student, Emily Beaumont, at first denied all knowledge of the man, but it didn’t require sentinel senses for all three to recognise that she was lying. Despite the disparaging glance she sent towards Blair, her guilty start when she looked at the picture, and the nervousness in her tone and demeanour thereafter gave her away, and the implied threat of being charged as an accomplice was enough to get her talking. After all, although she still believed in the group’s flawed dogma, no way did she want to be dragged down by the fanatical activists who had recently joined them. As far as she was concerned, they were on their own. 

She told them of Brennan’s visit, and identified Eddie Somersby as the student he met with initially, although she genuinely hadn’t overheard anything that passed between them. However, it was enough for Jim and Joel to seek out Somersby, who they eventually tracked down to a lecture theatre in the Political Science building. As his fellow students looked on in various degrees of bemusement and morbid fascination, Eddie was arrested on suspicion of arson, vandalism and threatening and abusive behaviour towards a member of faculty for starters. Struggling and screaming vile epithets at the two detectives, and particularly at Blair, who was looking on from a safe distance, he was dragged from the theatre and bundled into Joel’s sedan to be taken downtown for questioning. 

Scorning the offer of council, Somersby actually boasted of his activities, claiming that he was only doing his patriotic duty and haranguing the ‘fascist pigs’ who were trying to stop him. Although during the interview Jim was hard put not to knock the obnoxious young man into the middle of next week, he was gratified at the sheer amount of information Somersby was willing to share, not only in terms of the recent attacks on Blair, but also of random attacks carried out in different locations which hadn’t previously been attributed to members of the Rainier branch of the SGC. He wasn’t quite loose-tongued enough to name his student accomplices, but he was happy to identify Brennan as his contact and provider of both funding – in cash – and details of services required. 

The only problem now was to get concrete evidence of the link between Brennan and Murcheson as his employer in the context of Sandburg’s victimisation, and Jim was well aware that Brennan was highly unlikely to betray his employer’s confidence. 

Unfortunately, he wasn’t wrong, and when he and Joel confronted the sleazy PI in his office, no amount of threatening and cajoling could convince the man to give up Murcheson’s name. Unsurprisingly, the type of client Brennan usually attracted had good reason to value his confidentiality, and he wasn’t about to jeopardise his chances of future employment. True, the PD could subpoena his records, but that would take time, and neither Jim nor Joel was prepared to wait that long for justice for their young friend. Therefore, with Simon’s blessing, the pair headed to the Murcheson mansion, with the intention of bearding the lion in his den.  


\------------------------------------  


Although Blair would have liked to accompany the two detectives on their mission to confront Murcheson, he allowed himself to be persuaded to remain at the loft. He well knew that Jim was just being protective of him, but also realised that his presence at the mansion would be unnecessarily incendiary. He might despise the man for what he stood for, and for what it seemed increasingly likely he had done to Blair in his quest for vengeance, but at the end of the day, he was still a grieving father, and Blair couldn’t find it in him to gloat at Murcheson’s impending downfall. 

Nevertheless, he found it very hard to sit still as he waited to hear the outcome of Jim and Joel’s meeting with the angry and hurting man, especially as for once he had no marking or lesson preparation to keep him occupied. He could, he supposed, do a little work on his laptop on the still unfinished article for _Anthropology Today_ , but even that failed to distract him for long. He simply wasn’t used to being at a loose end, and however hard he tried, he couldn’t quite get over his resentment at his treatment at Dean Wilson’s hands. Both Wilson and Chancellor Edwards apparently blamed him for bringing Rainier into disrepute, and he worried about his future there, assuming, that was, that this mess could be cleared up once and for all in his favour. 

And on top of all that, he was increasingly anxious about how his relationship with Jim seemed to be developing. For sure, the big detective appeared to have changed his attitude about working with Blair on his senses, and had been nothing but supportive ever since Blair’s problems had begun, but there was still that big stumbling block called ‘commitment’ to overcome for both of them. And Blair still couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that he was in any way good enough, or attractive enough, to hold Jim’s interest for long. 

But he realised now that he so wished he could. Jim wasn’t just his Holy Grail in Sentinel terms, but was quickly becoming the centre of Blair’s universe in all senses of the word. Already a friend and protector, was it just possible that in time he could become a lover also? The thought was both exciting and frightening for a young man who had never yet given himself completely to another man, but he couldn’t deny that the notion was growing ever more appealing. The feeling of Jim’s arms around him the previous evening had warmed him and comforted him to his very core, and he knew that he wanted more – so much more – of the same in the days to come. 

However, moments later the snide voice of his inner demon remonstrated with him. _Come off it, Sandburg! Have you forgotten already the lessons Naomi taught you? Nothing lasts forever, so don’t hunger after either people or possessions, because you’ll only end up disappointed. Protect your heart, because no one else will do it for you!_

This time, however, he was less inclined to heed the warning. This time there was something else driving him, giving him courage. And if that ‘something’ was a part of the whole sentinel/companion dynamic, then he owed it to himself and to Jim to try and figure it out, for better or for worse.  


\---------------------------------  


**Meanwhile, at the Murcheson Mansion:**  


Approaching the imposing Murcheson Mansion via the curving, gravel driveway, Jim pulled up in front of the huge, porticoed double doors and turned to face Joel as he switched off the ignition. He offered his companion a wry half-grin as he murmured, “Well, here we go again, and somehow, I don’t think we’ll be any more welcome here than in good old Norman’s office. Probably much less so, because this time it’s not at his behest. And he must know he’s under suspicion.” 

Joel smiled back at him, although his broad, pleasant features were also tinged with sadness. 

“I think you’re probably right, Jim,” he replied. “I’m pretty certain that we’re the last people Murcheson would want to be interviewed by, but there’s no help for it. Not that I think he’s going to be particularly forthcoming, though. If he really is responsible for instigating the attacks on Blair, I hardly think he’ll be as eager to boast about it as that young idiot, Somersby.” 

Jim looked away for a moment, his expression thoughtful, but when he turned back to face Joel again, his demeanour and tone were just a little diffident, causing Joel to frown in mild puzzlement at this uncharacteristic behaviour in his stoic friend. 

“Um, well, he may not have to. I mean, in order to convince me of his guilt, that is. See, you know how Blair claimed that with these senses, I could be a walking, organic crime lab? Well, he also insists that I can be a fool-proof lie-detector too. And I’m thinking that he could be right. 

“Think about it, Joel. I can pick up peoples’ heartbeats and changes in their respiration if I concentrate, and see nervous sweat as soon as it appears. Their scent changes too. It becomes sort of sour; salty almost. 

“But the thing is, I can only do it easily when Blair’s with me. He seems to ground me somehow so I can use the senses without going into one of those ‘zone out’ things. 

“But if you’re willing to keep an eye on me, and stamp on my foot – or dig me in the ribs if you think I’m going off into la-la land - I’d like to try it here. At least, just enough to see if it works. What do you say?” 

Joel couldn’t help the worried frown which settled between his brows as he considered his answer. Next to Blair, of the very few people who knew of Jim’s gift, he was probably the most convinced of the true potential of his colleague’s raw ability, but he wasn’t at all sure whether he could honestly take responsibility for acting as Jim’s ‘guide’, as Blair had called it. He was pretty certain that only Blair had the real knowledge and capability to back Jim up, but perhaps he might be able to stand in as a temporary measure as long as Jim didn’t try too hard. 

“Well, OK, Jim,” he answered, somewhat reluctantly. “I’ll give it my best shot. But _only_ if you promise me not to try and go too deep, OK? Otherwise, no deal, my friend.” 

“You got it, Joel. I don’t particularly want to make a fool of myself in front of Murcheson anyhow by making like a zombie. So, let’s get this show on the road shall we? I don’t want to leave Blair alone, biting his nails in anxiety, for any longer than I can help.” 

Since they had already announced their arrival to the guard at the entrance to the grounds in order to pass through the electrically controlled gates, they weren’t surprised when the doors opened at Joel’s first knock. A haughty-looking butler ushered them inside, his fake British accent sounding absurd to Jim’s ears as he fought to contain the sardonic sneer that threatened to break out on his otherwise studiedly cool and blank face. At his side, Joel remained as calm and imperturbable as ever, smiling pleasantly at the pompous manservant who directed them to one of Murcheson’s stately reception rooms, informing them that the man in question would be with them shortly before sweeping around with a theatrical flourish to stride back the way he had come. 

Finally giving in to the smirk that stretched his lips, Jim thought idly that he might describe the scene to Blair, hoping to bring a smile to the hurting young man’s face, incidentally realising that cheering up his new friend was something which he was actually eager and willing to do. 

But first things first. They needed to get this interview over with, and if they were really lucky, they might even secure the proof they needed to link Murcheson to Brennan and the SGC activists. You could never tell what even a person of Murcheson’s calibre might let slip under duress if they managed to keep him off-balance and distracted enough.  


\----------------------------------  


Norman Murcheson had been in his den when his butler had informed him of the cops’ arrival. Although he had yet to return to his office at MurchPharm, he had begun to work from home, knowing that there were decisions to be made which required his input, despite his bitter loss. Under normal circumstances, the company could run pretty smoothly without him for a while, the other members of his board chosen for their single-minded loyalty to him and the company as much as for their managerial capability. However, ever since the development of the new formula, and its almost-theft, he knew that nothing must be allowed to slip until the requisite clinical trials were complete and it went into production. A pharmaceutical company was only as good as its products, and continued success depended on new lines being continually developed. He may no longer have a son and heir, but he still had a wife, a daughter and a son-in-law, and the company meant too much to him personally to let it go into decline for no other reason but self-pity. 

With an irritated sigh, Norman put aside the document he’d been perusing and rose to his feet. There was no way he would entertain Cascade PD’s finest in his sanctuary, so with a disdainful grimace, he exited the den and made his way to the formal reception room where he had instructed his man to have them wait. In truth, he had been expecting some sort of contact, ever since he had set his plan of reprisals against Sandburg in motion, but he was equally certain that he had taken adequate precautions to protect himself from anything other than vague suspicion. He was, after all, a man of considerable substance, and a grieving father to boot, so even if there were a few of his social and business acquaintances who were somewhat cooler towards him now, it didn’t bother him overmuch. Popularity was something Isabelle might crave, but for Norman, success, respect and financial gain were far more important. 

Unfortunately for Norman, Jim and Joel had deliberately refrained from announcing themselves by name, but simply as ‘representing Cascade Central PD’, so he had no warning whatsoever of the identity of the detectives he was about to confront. As he pushed open the door, his assumed expression of weary resignation changed abruptly to one of pure fury. 

“What the _Hell_ are you doing here? How _dare_ you! Get out of here, you murdering bastard! Get out! _GET OUT!”_

All the seething anger and hurt Norman had bottled up inside him burst forth. He simply couldn’t comprehend how Ellison could have the effrontery to face him like this! But then again, if the son had anything like the ruthless streak his father had, he shouldn’t be surprised. He had butted heads with William Ellison on occasion before, and was well aware of the man’s obduracy. 

But this was too much. This was _insulting!_ And he wasn’t going to stand for it. 

“I have nothing to say to you! Nothing! Do you hear me? _DO YOU HEAR ME?”_

Jim and Joel exchanged a speaking glance, both of them tacitly acknowledging that it was highly unlikely that they’d get anything worthwhile out of the furious businessman. They had hardly expected to be greeted with sang-froid and stoical acceptance, but the manic gleam sparking in Murcheson’s eyes was eerily similar to the one that Jim had observed in Kenny’s moments before he was forced to fire the fatal shot that took the kid down. 

Seconds later, Jim’s full attention snapped back to Murcheson, instinctively knowing that something was very wrong. Literally apoplectic with rage, the man’s vital signs told Jim in no uncertain terms that he was suffering a major stroke, and even as Jim moved forwards to support the collapsing body, he saw that Joel was reaching for his cell phone in order to call in a medical emergency. 

The next few minutes were fraught, to say the least. Alerted to his employer’s predicament by Jim’s shout for assistance, the snooty butler took one look at the scene in the reception room, and went into momentary meltdown. Although he made a valiant to pull himself together within a commendably short time, the two cops were grimly amused to note how his accent slipped briefly to one more appropriate for a resident of the Bronx than London’s Mayfair. 

While Jim and Joel attempted to get Murcheson comfortable on one of the plush sofas, the butler yelled for a maid to run for blankets and pillows before calling down to the guard in the gatehouse to watch for the arrival of the ambulance. 

During all this frantic activity, Murcheson remained semi-conscious, but the distortion of the features on the left side of his face was distressing to see. His unfocussed eyes stared blankly at nothing, and he failed to respond to Joel’s gentle questioning, so that both cops came to the reluctant conclusion that the lights might still be on, but there was nobody home.  


\-----------------------------------------  


Shortly afterwards, once Murcheson had been stabilised and was on his way to hospital, Jim and Joel sat in the truck again, both wrapped up in their own thoughts for some minutes as they came to terms with the latest developments and considered their options. Eventually, Jim sighed deeply and grinned ruefully over at his friend. “Well, Joel, that wasn’t exactly how I expected this interview to go down, I’ve got to say. Although I’m not proud to admit that there’s a part of me that insists that Murcheson deserved it, I know for sure that Blair won’t see it that way. As far as he’ll be concerned, no one should suffer like that, even the man who wanted him disgraced, if not dead. I might believe that justice has been served, but I think it’ll hit Blair hard. He’ll probably even feel guilty about it!” 

Returning his gaze with a sad, if sympathetic one of his own, Joel replied, “I think you’re right Jim. I mean, about Blair, that is. It’s not my place to criticise you for what your conscience tells you, even if I might see things differently, but I too think that Blair’s going to blame himself for this in some way. I think it’ll take a deal of persuasion before he realises that he’s the innocent victim here, not Murcheson.” 

“In that case, I think the sooner we get started, the better!” Jim answered with a wry grimace as he reached to turn on the ignition. “I’ll drop you off at the PD, and go and pick Blair up at the loft. I have a distinct feeling that Simon’s going to want to see all of us as soon as.”  


\--------------------------------  


**Later that evening, Simon’s office:**  


“Well, this is another fine mess you’ve gotten us into!” Banks’ gallows humour didn’t generate any reciprocating smiles in the men seated before him, but then again, he hadn’t been expecting it to. It was indeed a fine mess, and at that very moment, he wasn’t at all sure about the likelihood of a successful outcome. He knew that he’d taken a calculated risk in allowing Jim to be one of the detectives to interview Murcheson at home, and admitted to himself that he had hoped that the meeting would rattle the man’s cage enough to shake a confession of sorts out of him, but the extreme repercussions of the confrontation had taken them all by surprise. A lot would depend upon Murcheson’s prognosis as to whether there would be a case to answer for in the future, but right now it looked unlikely that he would ever recover enough to face further questioning. Simon just had to pray that the man’s family didn’t try to lay the blame for Norman’s condition on the provocative actions of the PD. 

With an exasperated sigh, he gazed around at the three men before him, his expression softening despite his aggravation when his eyes fell on Dr Sandburg. The young man was silent and still, this extra complication apparently just too much to take in on top of everything else. There seemed to be nothing left of the bouncy, exasperatingly smart – and smart-mouthed – academic who had first been introduced to Simon, and Simon was surprised to realise that he regretted the change. 

Abruptly coming to a decision, he addressed them again, wanting them to know that he would back them up no matter what. And that meant all of them. 

“OK, people, this is how we’re going to play it. The latest news I’ve had regarding Murcheson’s condition is that at present he is in a virtually vegetative state, and isn’t responding to any verbal stimuli. Obviously, it’s too soon to expect much yet, and the staff in his private hospital won’t provide more detail, but it doesn’t look good. I do know that his wife and daughter have been flown in from Portland on the company jet, and are with him now. 

“Anyhow, whatever the outcome, I think we can safely say that the immediate threat to Dr Sandburg is gone. That Somersby kid has hung himself out to dry by his own admission, and thanks to him, there’s now a wider on-going investigation into other incidents that hadn’t previously been linked to the student group, so I think it’s also safe to assume that they’ll also be out of action for the foreseeable future, even if they just go to ground for a while. I get the feeling that TPTB at Rainier will deal severely with any student they suspect of having any sort of involvement with the so-called ‘SGC’, whether as an activist or not. The Board of Governors will undoubtedly want to avoid any further slur on the U’s reputation. 

“Now, as far as Walter Brennan is concerned, the case against him is far less clear-cut. Although there is plenty of documentary evidence that he has worked for Murcheson, and MurchPharm Inc., on many occasions over the years, this time there seems to be no written record as far as this latest ‘assignment’ is concerned. Unfortunately, it stands to reason that by their very nature such orders would have been purely verbal and delivered in person. Yes, there have been substantial sums paid into his account by Murcheson, which one can assume are for services rendered, but all monies paid through him to the activists were in cash, and untraceable. Of course, he denies any wrongdoing, and without any concrete evidence, or Murcheson’s admission, we can’t prove otherwise. After all, at the end of the day, it’s his word against Somersby’s as to what actually passed between them at Murcheson’s request, and I can’t see any jury giving the kid credence over Brennan. It’s pretty obvious that Somersby never knew – or even wanted to know – the source behind the money. It was enough to have the wherewithal and the incentive to do exactly what he and his scumbag friends wanted to do in the name of political intolerance. 

“But don’t worry, Dr Sandburg – Blair. Brennan won’t get off scot free, son. I’ll make sure of that. At the very least I’m going to get his licence revoked if it’s the last thing I do, and he won’t be working as a PI in Cascade any more. Or in any other city, if I can help it. 

“Now, are there any questions?” and he looked from one to the other, noting Jim and Joel’s pensive, if grim expressions, although Sandburg seemed to be having trouble concentrating, which was hardly surprising under the circumstances. 

When no comments were forthcoming, Simon dismissed them with the order to get some rest and report back in the morning. 

As they rose to their feet, with Jim automatically reaching out to support Blair’s slight unsteadiness with a firm but gentle hand on his elbow, Simon met his gaze as he murmured, “You’ll be taking Dr Sandburg back to the loft with you, won’t you, Jim? See that he gets some rest?” 

Jim knew the question was rhetorical, and nodded briskly. “You got it, sir. See you in the morning!” 

And without further ado, he ushered his quiet partner from the office, intending to get back to the loft as soon as possible and put his good intentions into practice.  


\-----------------------------------  


**The loft, shortly afterwards:**  


Jim pottered around the kitchen, his senses tuned in on his silent friend, and every so often casting surreptitious glances towards where the small figure who sat hunched miserably in the corner of his sofa. Blair had been quiet and introspective ever since they had left the PD, and Jim was happy to give him some space, knowing that the young man wasn’t being deliberately standoffish and uncommunicative. Rather he had reached the point where even banalities were beyond him, and Jim couldn’t blame him for that. For himself, he didn’t feel in the least offended, simply wishing only to allow Blair the time and opportunity to get his head together without needing to worry about his host’s precious sensibilities. To that end, he was preparing soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for a late supper, figuring that the comfort food might just hit the spot for both of them. 

As he worked, he spent a little time thinking candidly about his own feelings and reactions to the events of the last few hours, and came to the conclusion that for himself, he felt surprisingly little guilt. True, he supposed that that didn’t say much about his character from some peoples’ standpoints, but although he had always considered himself to be an honourable man under most circumstances, he was also aware that he had a dark side too. And he was pretty certain that it was that side of him that provided a necessary support and counterbalance to his better self, thus making him more effective in his chosen role as warrior and protector. 

But it was blatantly obvious that Blair had no such darkness lurking within him, his very goodness making him vulnerable to both physical and spiritual attack. In Jim’s opinion, from the few hints he had gleaned about his guide’s past and his own observations regarding Blair’s character, that made Blair by far the more courageous of the two of them, because despite his inherent gentleness and lack of self-esteem, he still did his best to help and support those he felt needed him; going that extra mile even if he got hurt in the process. 

And now Jim was going to reciprocate, and provide all the support and help he could until Blair was back on his feet again. 

Finishing his culinary masterpiece, he placed the mugs of tomato soup and the plates bearing the sandwiches on a tray, and for once eschewing his own ‘House Rules’, took it into the living room and set it down on the coffee table before Blair. 

“There you go, Chief. I know you probably don’t feel all that hungry, but try and eat something, OK, babe? I think you’ll feel better for it.” 

Blair visibly shook himself, and raised his eyes to Jim’s, seeing only care and love in the ice blue eyes and gentle smile. He was nearly overwhelmed by the feeling of tenderness and gratitude that washed over and through him at the sight, and he finally felt the strength and courage to pull himself out of his funk. 

“Thanks, Jim,” he murmured feelingly. “That looks really good, man. Comfort food! Just what I need.” 

Greatly relieved at this first encouraging sign of recovery in his friend’s spirits, Jim’s grin widened appreciatively as he reached for his own plate. “No problem, kiddo. Enjoy, eat what you can, then we’ll grab an early night, OK?” 

It didn’t take them long to finish the meal and Blair helped with the clean-up, trying his best to maintain a reasonably cheerful façade. Although Jim knew what the effort was costing him, he was proud of this proof of his friend’s resilience, especially as Blair had managed to eat more than Jim had expected; finishing off his soup and half of his sandwich. 

Soon, however, he was visibly wilting again, so Jim made him sit down while he made them both some tea. He guessed that the hot brew would serve them both better as a nightcap than beer. 

They sipped in silence for a few minutes, but Jim frowned in consternation when Blair placed his mug down on the coffee table, and turned to face him, eyes now brimming over with tears as he choked back a sob. 

“I’m so sorry, Jim. To be such a wuss. I truly appreciate all you’ve done for me, and I’m so grateful. But it just hit me again. Everything, I mean. But worst of all is what’s happened to Murcheson because of me. I mean, I know that it isn’t really my fault, but it feels like it is. Whatever he did to me, for whatever reason, I wouldn’t have wished that on him, man, I swear.” 

In truth, Jim had been expecting just such a reaction from his tender-hearted friend, and even if he thought the sentiments expressed were totally misplaced, he wasn’t going to belittle him for them. So he relied on instinct instead, and simply reached over to take the now shaking body in his arms. 

And was hugely gratified to feel Blair hug him back for all he was worth, giving himself up into his sentinel’s care as he wept for Murcheson, for himself, and for Jim, Joel and Simon also for being caught up in this mess. 

Long minutes later, Blair had cried himself out, and pushed back a little in Jim’s arms, his tear-streaked face pink in mortification. But before he could utter the abject apology he felt Jim deserved, the big cop beat him to it, saying, “You feeling better now, babe? Look, it’s late, and I need my bed, as I’m sure you do also. But if you agree, there’s something I’d like to run by you. I know I’d sleep better if we shared the same bed. I don’t mean to do anything more than sleep, but I’d like to hold you. What do you say?” And he anxiously crossed mental fingers that Blair wouldn’t refuse him, or worse, run away screaming at the notion. 

However, he needn’t have worried, because the look of blossoming hope and trust that spread across Blair’s still attractive, if careworn, face gave him the answer he needed, even as the shy voice confirmed it. 

“Yes, Jim. Yes please. I’d like that very much.”   


\------------------------------------------  


**Three months later:**  


“Come on Chief, hurry up! Don’t want to be late on your first day!” Jim’s sharp command was delivered in an amused tone which elicited a chuckle from his partner, who had just appeared at the top of the stairs to the bedroom, wrestling with a hair tie as he fought to contain his wild curls. 

“OK, OK, man! Keep your hair on! What’s left of it anyway!” he added mischievously, his laughter growing at Jim’s mock-irritated, growling response. 

“Well, if I have less than before, it must have something to do with the amount of aggravation I have to put up with from you, _Hairboy!”_

Smiling even wider, Blair finished up with the hair tie, chuckling, “Yeah, what is it with that? Is it just because your colleague secretly prefers flowing locks to the shaved look?” 

“Nah, babe. Henri just thinks he’s a funny guy, even though the rest of us think his idea of humour is dubious at best. But his heart’s in the right place, and he’s a good friend.” 

Nodding his agreement, Blair bounded down the stairs to be caught at the bottom in his sentinel’s strong arms. 

Pulling the smaller man into a warm hug, Jim buried his nose in the soft skin behind Blair’s be-ringed ear, breathing deeply of his guide, and now lover’s, delicious scent. After a few indulgent moments, he gently put Blair away from him, and pretended to study him critically, causing Blair to frown a little, his ever-present lack of self-confidence peeking out again. 

“What’s wrong, big guy? Should I change?” 

Jim shook his head quickly, angry at himself for worrying his young partner unnecessarily. “No, not at all, babe. You look edible – and quite presentable enough for the PD, I promise!” and was relieved when Blair’s grin broke out again. In fact, Jim was just thinking that his lover was dressed in almost exactly the same clothing as when they first met, except that a few of the items such as the black leather jacket and the hiking boots were new, the originals having been lost in the fire. But it was a look that suited Blair, and Jim had to fight the urge to pull the tempting body over to the nearest sofa to have his wicked way with it. 

“Come on then, Chief, let’s make a move,” he said instead, mentally promising himself a rain check, and knowing that Blair would be only too willing to indulge him later.  


\----------------------------------  


As they drove to the PD, Jim cast the occasional smiling glance over at his hyper passenger, whose leg jiggled nervously as he almost vibrated in his seat. Strangely enough, however, Jim felt a remarkable tolerance for his companion’s irritating movements, and realised that he had actually discovered a hidden well of previously untapped forbearance ever since the super-smart, beautiful bundle of insecurity known as Blair Sandburg had moved in with him. He would never have believed that his noisy, untidy roommate, who regarded Jim’s precious House Rules with affectionate puzzlement, could have grown on him so fast. But that was exactly what had happened. Blair had gotten under his skin almost from the get-go, and Jim wouldn’t be without him for anything now, and not just because of his unstinting help and support with the ‘sentinel thing’. 

Oh, he wasn’t perfect – who was? – but he was as close to it as Jim wanted or needed, and he was eternally grateful for the young man’s whole-hearted commitment, which he did his best to return in kind. 

As he drove, he allowed his thoughts to wander as he considered how the past few months had changed them both, generally in a good way, but not necessarily easily, for Blair in particular. But his young partner’s resilience under duress never failed to impress Jim, and by now they had reached the stage where their working relationship was about to be officially ratified. 

In the immediate aftermath of Norman Murcheson’s stroke, the repercussions turned out to be far more satisfactory for Blair and the PD than any of those affected might have anticipated. Isabelle Murcheson, far from reacting hysterically and demanding retribution on behalf of her husband, actually behaved with unexpected restraint and decorum. After all, they had been man and wife in name only for years now, so that she had no deep affection to be irrevocably wounded by his present predicament. Apparently far more concerned for her own reputation and social standing than with that of her husband, whose own recent behaviour had been less than acceptable, she merely saw him ensconced in the best care facility available and handed over the reins of MurchPharm Inc. to her daughter and son-in-law until such time as Norman recovered enough to re-take control. And if he never did, the family was philosophical about it. It seemed that Isabelle’s son-in-law was a competent businessman in his own right, and Stephanie had always had more initiative and ability than her deceased brother anyway. 

Since Isabelle also wished to avoid any further ‘unpleasantness’ as far as her husband’s alleged victimisation of Dr Sandburg was concerned, she offered Blair a substantial out-of-court settlement plus a politely-worded apology on her husband’s behalf, which Jim had convinced him to accept, even though he knew Blair was uncomfortable with it. Blair, being Blair, felt that the sum was overly generous, and was embarrassed that Isabelle should have been placed in such a position, but Jim impressed on him that it was no more than he deserved in view of what he had lost, and was only the equivalent of pocket change for a lady of Isabelle Murcheson’s means. 

Although Blair had banked most of the money for the time being, he had spent some of it on replacing his lost belongings and in getting his beloved Volvo repaired, such that it was now running better than it ever had. He had also insisted on paying his share of their living expenses, and Jim, knowing how much it meant to his friend’s sense of self-worth that he be seen to be paying his way, had agreed. 

Unfortunately, not everything had worked out as well insofar as Blair’s academic career was concerned. 

Even though, as Simon had predicted, Rainier’s authorities had acted quickly and efficiently to shut down the so-called ‘SGC’ headquarters, and had taken steps to reprimand or dismiss any student proven to be associated with it, it appeared that any sympathy they held towards Blair was muted, to say the least. It wasn’t that the vast majority of his students hadn’t been supportive and glad to see him return, but some of his own faculty members were now ambivalent towards him, much to his extreme bewilderment. Within a matter of days, Blair realised to his dismay that several of Rainier’s self-proclaimed ‘great and good’, including Chancellor Edwards and Dean Wilson, actually seemed to blame him for bringing the U into disrepute, and therefore were making noises about whether to require him to undergo another prolonged probationary period to ensure that he deserved his place on faculty. He knew that Edwards had always considered him to be a thorn in her side, and now found to his cost that Dean Wilson was profoundly envious of his former TA, begrudging Blair his popularity, his talent and the quality of his prodigious output. They had no official grounds for terminating his employment, but they could and would do their best to make his position untenable, and he knew it. With so many of his fellow teachers unwilling to come out in his support in the cause of self-preservation, the devastated and disillusioned young man realised that all his years of loyalty to Rainier counted as nothing in the grand scheme of the U’s on-going development and jealously-guarded reputation. 

Jim recalled with agonising clarity the night Blair had come home to him at the loft, barely able to comprehend what he had learned. Totally disbelieving and distraught, he had spent most of the evening in Jim’s arms, alternating between bursts of indignant denial and devastated tears. And there had been little Jim had dared offer in terms of advice, in case it should come back and bite him in the ass at some point in the future. Far better for him to simply provide physical comfort and allow Blair to come to his own decisions in his own good time. 

And that was what had eventually happened. Emotionally worn out, Blair had met his sympathetic gaze and clung to him, the expression in his teary eyes resigned yet still not completely broken. 

“It’s over, Jim,” he had choked out. “I want nothing more to do with them. With any of them. Sure, I’ll miss teaching, and so many of my students. But if that’s all I ever meant to the U, then I guess I can do without them. I have my doctorate, and, more importantly, I have you. I have everything I need, so damn them!” 

However, Jim also recalled the flash of uncertainty in Blair’s puffy and red-rimmed eyes that had momentarily marred the decisiveness in his tone as he had murmured nervously, “Um, I do have you, don’t I, Jim? I mean, I don’t want to take anything for granted….” 

And that’s when Jim had taken his own courage in both hands as he had replied, “No, babe. You’re not taking anything for granted. We belong together, and I have no intention of ever letting you go unless you want it. 

“And to prove it, there’s nothing more I’d like than for us to take this upstairs, babe. We’ve shared the same bed for days now, and I want it to be for something other than comfort and sleep. Will you allow me to make love to you, Chief? To prove just how much you mean to me?” 

And Blair hadn’t even paused as he had thrown himself bodily into Jim’s willing arms, murmuring, “Oh, yes! Please, yes, Jim! Now! Take me now!” 

And Jim had never been one to turn down an offer like that. 

Looking back, Jim couldn’t help but smile internally at the delightful memory of that transcendental moment. To be sure, it hadn’t been perfect, or even particularly efficient on account of Blair’s nervousness and his admitted virginity in terms of male/male sex. But what he had lacked in experience, he had more than made up for in sheer determination and love, and that, added to Jim’s greater proficiency, meant that even though they fell short of actual penetration, they had achieved possibly the most satisfying mutual climax either of them had ever experienced before. 

And it had only gotten better since then, such that they learned about each other both inside and out; that amazing knowledge consolidating and growing a little more each day. Truly, two halves of one being – one soul, even, in Blair’s opinion – and who was Jim to gainsay him? He knew without a shadow of a doubt that, when they took that final step; when Jim felt that Blair was truly ready to be taken; it would the greatest gift he had ever received, or ever would again. The gift of Blair’s virginity.  


\---------------------------------------  


Pulling into his usual spot in the underground parking garage, Jim turned off the ignition and reached over to still the jiggling knee closest to him. “You really ready for this, Chief? To become an official employee of Cascade PD?” 

Although his expression retained a certain amount of anxiety, there was also determination and overt love for Jim writ large on Blair’s attractive face. “Yeah, Jim. I’m fine, man, honestly! This is what I want. To be able to ride with you officially whenever you need me, without needing any more obfuscation. And to be able to make a contribution to any other departments that need me. It’s all good, man.” 

Jim nodded, his own relief clear to see. This was the result he had been hoping for ever since he and Blair had gotten together, and even though he still felt selfish, insofar as he believed that he had received the better part of the deal, he hoped that the outcome wasn’t too shabby for Blair either. 

Despite his self-confessed discomfort with certain aspects of the whole ‘sentinel/guide’ deal, Simon – with Chief Warren’s blessing – had managed to procure a 90 day observer’s pass for Blair as soon as he realised that Jim truly did benefit from the young man’s presence. If questioned about the reason for Blair’s ride-along status, they had simply implied that it was in order to do research for some obscure academic study. And truth be told, as far as Jim’s friends and colleagues in MCU were concerned, that was all they needed to know. It was enough that with Blair’s arrival, Jim had quickly changed for the better, and they were more than happy to welcome the young man in view of his cheerful personality and helpful nature. If there were those who didn’t approve, they tended to keep their opinions to themselves, not wishing to incur either Jim’s wrath, or that of Blair’s new admirers. 

However, once Blair had cut his ties with Rainier, Simon recognised that something would have to be done to make Blair’s status official if he was to keep riding with Jim, so he came up with the idea of creating a new consultancy position for their resident Doctor of Anthropology. It was, after all, something that had been introduced in several other police departments with marked success, so he simply needed to sell the idea to the Chief and Commissioner. And luckily they had agreed with him, and so today, on the day that his observer’s pass ran out, he would receive a new pass, identifying him as an official consultant to Cascade PD. 

Although to begin with he would receive a small retainer and thereafter be paid on a case-by-case basis, Blair was more than happy with the remuneration he would receive, especially as he had Isabelle’s settlement to fall back on if needed. Once the demand for his services increased to occupy him full-time, as it undoubtedly would in due course, he would be paid a salary commensurate with that of a senior administrator at the very least. And although he knew he’d be working more often for other departments as and when needed, he would always be there for Jim. Where he wanted to be.  


\------------------------------  


Shortly afterwards, the pair entered the bullpen side by side, and the beaming smile on Blair’s face seemed to light up the room. 

“Hey, Hairboy!” Henri ‘H’ Brown’s cheerful greeting rang out as the ever-ebullient junior detective sauntered jauntily across the room, trailed by his dapper, less demonstrative partner, Brian Rafe. 

“So, today’s the day you get made an official member of the team, huh?” the friendly African American continued, as Rafe moved up beside him, his smile more reserved, but no less genuine for all that. 

“Yep, it sure is!” Blair’s happy smile and eager response loosened the final knot of uncertainty inside Jim so that he was able to join in unreservedly with the others’ friendly laughter, his hand resting possessively on Blair’s shoulder. “A proper ID and a paycheque, no less! What more could a man ask for?” Blair snickered, soaking up the freely-offered camaraderie like a sponge. 

“It’s the very least you should get, Blair,” Rafe added quietly, but slanting a sly, amused glance up at Jim as he spoke. “After all, you’ve done us all a great service by re-humanising Jim here!” 

“Hey! I think I resemble that remark!” Jim chuckled, frowning in mock indignation. 

However, further conversation was curtailed by the bellow issuing forth from Simon’s open door. 

“Ellison! Dr Sandburg! My office, if you please! And don’t you two have work to be getting on with?” 

Grinning wryly, H and Rafe returned to their desks, while Jim placed a proprietary hand at the small of Blair’s back, ushering his suddenly nervous partner gently towards Banks’ inner sanctum. 

“Come on, babe,” he murmured quietly. “Simon knows you don’t want a lot of fanfare and fuss. This is just a simple presentation. Nothing like a degree award ceremony!” 

“Like I’d know!” Blair whispered back a little sadly, taking Jim by surprise. “Never went to one, man. Couldn’t see the point, because Naomi was never there. She thought they were unnecessarily egotistical anyway. I just had them post my certificates to me.” 

As Jim stepped aside to let the smaller man precede him into the office, he sent a few less-than-charitable thoughts towards his partner’s still absent parent, thinking that some of her ‘out there’ notions had damaged her son in more ways than she could ever have dreamed of, in his opinion at least. 

However, this was not the time for either of them to brood, so their smiles were genuine when Simon greeted them affably before offering them a mug of his latest blend of gourmet coffee. 

“It’s good to see you, Dr Sandburg – Blair,” he rumbled as he busied himself with pouring their drinks. “Hope you’re still of the same mind, son. Because I have to say I’m looking forward to welcoming you officially as one of my team. You’ve already helped Jim greatly in the few weeks you’ve been partnering him as an observer, and I know that, as a consultant, you’re going to be an asset to the department as a whole. 

“And it’s good to know that this way we’ll never have to reveal the true extent of Jim’s sentinel capabilities, unless he ever decides he wants to go public, so as far as I can see, it’s a win-win situation. Because of that IA investigation, his colleagues know he has an ‘edge’ of sorts, and that your presence helps him use it, but that’s all they want or need to know. As long as our stats keep improving like they have been, we all benefit.” 

“Thank you, Captain,” Blair replied sincerely. “Yes, I still want this, with all my heart. I know you’re uncomfortable with a lot of the more arcane ‘sentinel/guide’ stuff, and I can’t blame you for that. Hell, we’re still learning ourselves! But I just wanted to say that I believe this is what I was meant to do. To be Jim’s guide, to the best of my ability.” 

“Fair enough, Blair. So, shall we get on with it, so you can enjoy your coffee in peace?” 

And as Blair nodded eagerly, and rose to his feet, Jim looked on with pride as Simon presented his lover with his official ID, and the large envelope containing his contract and the details of the package which accompanied the offer. 

Shaking Simon’s hand warmly, Blair’s pure joy was a delight to behold, and both Jim and Simon couldn’t help but be deeply touched by his innocent pleasure. 

“Congratulations, Dr Sandburg, and welcome to Cascade PD, and in particular, the Major Crimes Unit. May our association be a long and fruitful one.” 

And just like that, it was over, and Blair sat down again, a contented, if slightly preoccupied smile suffusing his face as he clutched the ID and package to him. This was right, he just knew it. No regrets, no what-ifs. He couldn’t have been happier. 

He was still smiling to himself and sipping his coffee while Jim and Simon chatted inconsequentially when there was a knock on the door. Simon glanced at his watch, frowning a little at the time as he shot an apologetic glance at his visitors. 

“Sorry, Jim, Blair. I’ve overrun some, and I have another appointment due now. But since you’re here, you might as well meet our new visiting officer,” and he called out, “Enter!” even as he smirked knowingly at the quizzical expressions on his friends’ faces. 

The door opened to reveal a tall, attractive brunette, who grinned cheerfully at them all as she entered the room. 

“Detective Jim Ellison, Dr Blair Sandburg,” Simon made the introductions. “Meet Inspector Megan Connor, over here from Australia’s New South Wales Police Department on an officer exchange programme, and seconded to MCU. I’m sure you’ll enjoy working together!” 

Simon looked on in wry amusement as the Australian officer strode forward purposefully to shake first Jim’s hand, then Sandburg’s. “G’day, Jimbo, pleased to meet you. I’ve heard plenty about you already, and look forward to working with you. You’ve got quite the rep, mate!” 

She addressed him breezily, the gleam in her eye suggesting to Jim that she knew more about him than he was comfortable with, and he stiffened in indignation at her familiarity even as he grunted, “Inspector Connor!” withdrawing his hand as soon as politely possible in order to stand at parade rest as she turned her attention to Blair. 

Seizing Blair’s hand in both of hers, Connor grinned broadly into Blair’s smiling face as she said, “Dr Sandburg! G’day to you too, love. I’ve got to say that I’m well impressed that Cascade PD has a real, live professor of anthropology working for them. And partnering Jimbo, here!” she added, almost winking at him when his mouth fell open in astonishment. 

“You know, Sandy,” she continued blithely, “when I heard all about you from that nice, chatty lady in Personnel, I thought I’d read up on some of your papers. It’s amazing what you can pull up on the internet, isn’t it? Your dissertation on ‘Closed Societies’ was really something, Sandy, but I was even more impressed by your Master’s thesis on Tribal Sentinels…” and she almost laughed out loud at Jim’s strangled exclamation even as she watched with interest as Blair’s eyebrows rose nearly to his hairline in consternation. 

However, Blair didn’t allow his discomfiture to show for long, quickly resuming his open and welcoming expression; and she thoroughly appreciated his friendly, if slightly strained, smile as he stammered, “Um, thank you, Inspector. That’s good of you to say.” 

“No worries, Sandy,” she replied warmly. “But call me Megan. I think we’re going to be really good friends!” and she raised one hand to cup his cheek. 

And that was quite enough for Jim. Even as Simon coughed and stared pointedly at the visiting officer’s intrusive appendage, Jim reached around her and grasped Blair’s elbow in a firm, but not ungentle grip. 

“Well, nice to meet you, _Inspector!”_ he growled, sounding for all the world like a large, predatory and angry jungle cat. “If you’ll excuse us, Captain, we have work to be getting along with!” 

And with that he escorted – no, make that _towed_ – his guide out of the office and towards his desk and his own designated turf. 

Although Blair was bemused to say the least, he wasn’t overly upset by Jim’s macho posturing. After all, he figured that being possessive and protective towards his guide was in a sentinel’s purview, and when push came to shove, it was rather nice to be so loved and cherished that he engendered such feelings in his partner. And it wasn’t as if Jim had anything to worry about. Sure, Megan Connor was the sort of gorgeous, smart and feisty woman Blair might well have tried to put the moves on in the not-so-distant past, but he was far beyond that now. Jim had his heart, so from now on his motto was ‘look, but no touching’! 

But that didn’t mean to say that he didn’t look forward to working with the forthright Inspector. He envisaged a good many interesting cases in their future, and just hoped that the stress didn’t endanger Jim’s dentition too greatly; eyeing his partner’s tightly clenched jaw with some concern. 

As for Jim, he was well aware that he was behaving irrationally, but he couldn’t care less. How _dare_ that Aussie bimbo grope his guide like that! And address him so familiarly! Shit! And he was supposed to _work_ with her? 

Then again, Blair hadn’t seemed to be too worried at the prospect, and he had already learned to trust his young partner’s empathic instincts, so perhaps she wasn’t as bad as all that after all. 

But she’d better keep her hands to herself where Blair was concerned; otherwise she might just end up with broken fingers!  


\----------------------------------------  


**Epilogue:**  


**The loft, later that night:**  


Under the guise of reading through the paperwork for his new occupation, Blair surreptitiously peeked up to watch his big lover prowling restlessly around the loft, endlessly straightening and aligning objects already perfectly positioned, thanks to normal ‘Sentinel OCD’ behaviour. He wasn’t irritated as much as concerned, because he hated to see Jim upset in any way, and he believed he knew the reason for it. And possibly, the remedy, if he had the nerve to follow it up. 

Ever since meeting Inspector Connor that morning, Jim had been twitchy and short-tempered, even though he had apologised several times to Blair over the course of the day. He just couldn’t seem to help himself, especially when the woman in question seemed to be no respecter of boundaries or personal space; happily inflicting her presence on anyone and everyone in the bullpen with whom she wanted or needed to communicate. And although, like most of the other bullpen personnel, Blair didn’t actually have a problem with that, he could see how much it riled Jim, so had tried tactfully to avoid her wherever possible. 

Unfortunately, it had only gotten worse that evening, when Blair had been asked by his friends and colleagues to go for a celebratory drink after work at a local bar. They could hardly leave their new colleague out of the general invitation, and of course, she had been only too happy to accept, so Jim had spent yet more time virtually standing guard over his guide. To spare Jim’s unease, Blair had left as soon as he politely could, which of course made Jim feel guilty for spoiling his partner’s impromptu party, but there was no help for it. Blair hated to see his big lover upset on his behalf, even if he was a bit disappointed on his own account, so he sucked it up and made his excuses accordingly. 

Driving home, they decided to opt for their favourite takeout Thai food since neither of them wanted to cook, so at least they had enjoyed dinner, even if they didn’t chat as much as usual. But as soon as the clean-up was done, Jim had begun this endless prowling, and it was driving Blair nuts. 

Finally screwing up his courage, he put down the papers he was holding, and turned to face Jim, surprising himself with the steadiness of his voice as he addressed his antsy partner. 

“Jim, please come and sit down, man. You’re giving me a headache wandering around like that! Please, man. I know what’s winding you up so tight, but if you’ll come and listen, I think I know what will make things better. Please?” 

And there was no way Jim could resist the entreaty in his lover’s tone, so he strode over to the sofa and settled down beside Blair, throwing an arm around his lover’s shoulders so he could pull the smaller figure into a warm, one-armed embrace. 

“I’m sorry, babe. I know I’ve been a real bastard today, but I just can’t seem to help myself. It has to be something to do with that blasted woman, but I don’t understand why? I mean, I always feel protective of you, babe, but something about her seemed to send me into protector overdrive! I just don’t get it!” and he rubbed his forehead in frustration before meeting Blair’s concerned gaze, his own expression one of rueful apology. 

“It’s OK, Jim, really. I mean, I think I’ve figured out what it’s all about, even though it might sound a bit weird. Can I explain?” And when Jim nodded eagerly, he took a deep, calming breath, and began. 

“The thing is, Jim, that although you’re always going to be protective of me, because it appears to be a natural instinct for a sentinel, so far any threat to me has been impersonal, if you will. I mean, Murcheson’s campaign was more about what I stood for rather than against me personally, seeing as he didn’t even know me, and the few other times I’ve been threatened when we’re riding together were just in the nature of the job. But Megan encroached on your turf, man, and that _was_ intentionally personal! Which is why you reacted so fiercely. You saw her as a threat to our partnership; as someone who wanted to steal your guide; and that was way too much to take. 

“But the thing is, I think I know how to put your mind at rest, Jim. At least, I’d like to try…” and his voice tailed off uncertainly as his courage deserted him under Jim’s steady scrutiny. 

He was more than relieved when Jim nodded thoughtfully. “I think you may be right, babe. Looking at it like that seems logical, and explains exactly how I’m feeling. But how are we going to fix it, Chief? I really want to know, so don’t worry that I’m going to laugh or bite your head off, lover. Just tell me what you’ve worked out in that amazing brain of yours!” 

Relaxing under the influence of Jim’s now affectionate regard, Blair smiled a little shyly up into his sentinel’s beautiful, ice-blue eyes. 

“Well, lover, it’s like this. Although we make love – and bond, really, I suppose you could say – on a regular basis, maybe we need to do more? I mean, you’ve been so gentle and patient with me, and I’ve loved every minute of what we’ve done so far, but I think the time is right, and I’m ready, Jim. Truly. I want to go the whole way, Jim. I want you to take me. And I think – hope – that it will be the final step in cementing our partnership forever, so that nothing or no one will ever be able to come between us.” 

And Jim’s smile lit up the room as he pulled his beloved guide into a bear hug. 

“Oh, babe!” he murmured into the curl-covered ear nearest to him. “I don’t know what to say! You amaze me, Chief, you really do! Not only do I think you’re right, but it’s something I’ve wanted for so long, but didn’t want to push. I should be honoured to accept the gift of your virginity, Blair Sandburg, and I promise I shall do everything in my power not to hurt you. Ever.” 

Rising to his feet, he held out his hand for Blair to take, and hand in hand they climbed the stairs to the big bedroom, their attention focussed entirely on each other as they reached their destination. 

Looking deep into the fathomless blue eyes, so full of love for him, Jim whispered almost worshipfully, “You’re so beautiful, babe. I can hardly believe that you’re so willing to tie yourself to me, but I can’t thank you enough. So I want to do this right, Chief. Blair. If it’s OK with you, I’d like to make this for you, so let me lead, please? But if there’s anything – anything at all – that makes you uncomfortable, tell me, OK? I won’t hurt you, My Guide.” 

And Blair smiled beatifically up at him, his eyes telegraphing his utter trust and love for Jim. “I shall be honoured, My Sentinel. And you won’t hurt me. You’ll never hurt me. I know that.” 

With the utmost care and gentleness, Jim undressed Blair, looking his fill as if this was the first time he had laid eyes on the beautiful, compact form that was his and his alone to enjoy. Encouraging Blair to lie on the big bed, he undressed quickly and climbed up beside his love and began to map him thoroughly. Using all his senses, he worshipped Blair until the smaller man was writhing in heated lust, begging for him to _‘Hurry up already, please, man!’_ But Jim had no intention of rushing. No way was he going to risk hurting his virgin lover just to satisfy his own gratification, hard though it was to hold back. 

But eventually he felt that Blair was prepared enough, stretched carefully by sensitive sentinel fingers. And when he entered the hot, silken passage, pain soon changed to pleasure as they began to move together in sync. And when they climaxed within milliseconds of each other, it was like nothing they had ever experienced before. It was as if they truly knew each other down to the molecular level, merging and joining as one - a genuine symbiotic partnership - and secure in the knowledge that this was forever. 

As Blair had hoped and believed, they were now inseparable, and always would be. 

In the blissful aftermath, propped up comfortably on one elbow, Jim gazed down upon his exhausted and drowsy lover. He admired the flushed face, tousled curls and sated expression in the rapidly closing eyes, thinking that he had never before beheld such a beautiful sight. And just as he reached up with his free hand to brush a wayward curl from Blair’s smooth forehead, he was suddenly struck by a stray thought. And that thought made him snicker softly, but not softly enough for Blair to miss. 

“Hmmmm…wha’ssup, lover?” his sleepy guide murmured, trying valiantly to crack open one enquiring eye. 

“Oh, nothing, Sweetheart,” Jim replied easily. “Just admiring the view, Beautiful,” and he leaned down to place a soft kiss on each now closed eyelid. 

A few minutes later, satisfied that Blair had finally succumbed to exhausted and satiated slumber, he considered his response, knowing that it had only been partially true. But he didn’t feel guilty about keeping his thoughts to himself. He did indeed admire the view, and thanked every deity he could think of for granting him such a gift. 

But what he had also recalled was a memory of a dream, now so distant-seeming. A dream where he had imagined his guide in this very bed, gazing up at him in adoration after they had made passionate love. 

And that dream had been wonderful, it had to be said. But compared to the real thing? Nah, no way! 

No, the real thing had turned out to be far, far better. 

And on that amazing thought, he joined his lover, friend and guide in sleep.  


**THE END**


End file.
